


Bite Down

by epherii



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: A lot of sleeping, Alternate Universe, Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Temporary Character Death, a lot of cuddling, but trust me, i do not see anywhere near enough coran in fic so expect a lot of him, minor shiro/allura, the author is sorry, vampire!AU, walk it off binch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-03-16 02:08:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 33,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13626321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epherii/pseuds/epherii
Summary: Overall, actual adulthood was treating Lance and Keith pretty well. A year after college graduation, they were renting an apartment and both in jobs that they didn't despise.Sure, Keith isn't really sleeping, and he's acting kind of strangely, but it's nothing serious.Is the window open?





	1. A cool night breeze.

"Please don't tell me you're going to wear that." Lance stared flatly at his boyfriend from the worn grey couch, barely bothering to hide the plea in his voice. He had barely got in from work ten minutes ago before his boyfriend called out from their room to wait on the couch. It had been a long day and in honesty, all he wanted was a nap.

"Why not? I wear it all the time." Keith was stood up in front of him, wearing a baggy plaid jacket with a hole in the cuff on top of Lance's old baseball tee and black ripped jeans. It looked good, Lance was absolutely not going to deny, but no way could Keith be serious about this.

"Why not? Becuase it's your brother's engagement party that's why not!" Lance's hands went to his face and he began to rub at his eyes and temples as he slumped further into the sofa. Keith pouted and took the jacket off, hanging it on the door before flopping down in the space next to Lance. He looked at Keith through his fingers and sighed,  
"Keith, you know that I love you more than anything, but you are absolutely impossible when it comes to parties. You need to make a proper effort for these things. It's a big moment for Shiro!" Keith groaned and hung his head, catching on to what he was implying.

"Please don't tell me we have to go shopping." Lance grinned and pulled the other man's face up to meet his eye.

"I'm afraid we do, Mullet" Keith rolled his eyes at the old nickname and continued to protest. Lance meanwhile, was already off the sofa and on his feet.

"Come on Lance, it's not even a mullet anymore, it hasn't been in over a year!" Lance stooped to playfully tug on a wisp of hair growing from the back of Keith's head in a mock inspection.

"Hmmm, nope." Keith jerked his head away from Lance, annoyed. Gentle laughter swam into Lance's voice, "Still looks like a mullet to me baby." He picked Keith's jacket off the floor and threw it at him, who just about caught it. 

Keith's hair had been a teasing point for their entire relationship, even back in the 'denial days', as Pidge had dubbed them. As two emotionally constipated nineteen year olds, the pair had decided that the best way to cope with their pining was to hate each other. It managed to build up into a fairly sized rivalry that dragged on for the better part of a year, until feelings (and a little alcohol) won out. 

Keith pulled the jacket on and Lance grabbed onto his hands and pulled him to his feet. Still holding hands, he pulled Keith in close and wound his arms around his own neck, let go, and placing his own hands on the shorter man's waist. Keith tried to hide his spreading grin by burying his head in the crook between Lance's neck and shoulder as they stood, but Lance nudged his head up to meet eye to eye and softly pressed his lips to Keith's. Keith kissed him back, winding his arms tighter around Lance's neck and pulling them closer together. Just as Keith tried to deepen the kiss, Lance broke them apart, shot him a smirk and walked backwards into the hallway, still facing Keith. The frustration was clear on Keith's face and he clenched his fist in his hair. 

"Gimme a minute to get changed and then we'll get a move on, we've clearly got lots of work to do, and I don't know when the shops close today." With laughter ringing in his voice, he winked before turning around and heading towards the door. Keith grumbled under his breath and moved to follow his boyfriend to change his own clothes. 

 

///////////////////////////////////

 

Keith hated shopping, and Lance knew it. He looked bored out of his mind as he dragged his feet from one store to another, unenthusiastically following as Lance browsed through the racks. Lance held up the occasional shirt to Keith's chest before either jamming it back on the railing or saving it for the changing rooms. At times Keith tried to voice his lack of interest, but Lance simply squeezed his hand and told Keith to trust him on this. It seemed to drag on for hours, but by store number five and outfit attempt number God-only-knows, Lance was finally satisfied and ready to go back home. 

It was a fairly casual black blazer with the sleeves pushed up to Keith's elbows, worn over a dark red t-shirt and semi-tight black pants. Lance looked the other man up and down, inspecting and admiring, before nodding and looking up to meet Keith's eye.  
"That's it, you're wearing that one." he decided.  
"Oh am I?" Keith stepped towards him, relieved that they could leave but still giving in to the old temptation in pushing Lance's buttons. There was mock defiance in his voice, but not a genuine challenge. Just teasing enough on the edge to spark their familiar back and forth. Lance noticed the spark in his grin as he carried on towards Lance and took the bait, playing along with Keith's game.

"Well-" he drew his word out, leaning back against the wall and feigning nonchalance, " it's your choice, but your fashion sense is awful, so I recommend trusting me on this one." He punctuated himself by placing his index finger under Keith's chin and drawing his face in a fraction closer. The other man's grin settled into a conspiratory smirk as he allowed Lance's touch to dictate him. He rested his hand on the wall next to Lance's head and leaned closer, turning slightly to nose along his jaw and pepper infrequent kisses along the top of his neck. 

He made his way up and across Lance's cheek and smiled again, softer than earlier, before reaching to capture his lips. Lance met him and snaked his arms around Keith's neck to pull him in even closer. Keith's free hand moved itself to Lance's waist and his back arched up toward Keith's chest. Their lips moved against each other, slow and familiar until the gentle pad of footsteps into the changing rooms interrupted them. Lance playfully shoved Keith back into the cubicle with a grin and waited for him to change back into his own clothes before paying for the outfit and leaving.

 

/////////////////////////////////

 

When they got home, shopping bags in hand, they saw Coran pacing back and forth outside their door, at the sight of them, the older man was pulled out of his thoughts and his face lit up.  
"Lance! Keith! Lovely to see you both, my lads. Now Lance, if you don't mind I need to borrow your Keith for an hour or so, to discuss something involving our latest.." He paused as if thinking about his next words carefully,

"-study. It is vital that I speak with him regarding this." The severity in his face fell away and he held up a single finger in reassurance.

"But worry not my boy, I shall have him home to you within the hour!" In typical Coran fashion, he has talked circles around Lance (a feat in itself) and whisked Keith away before either of them had time to fully comprehend the situation. 

Keith called out a hasty goodbye as he was dragged down the stairs by the man and Lance chuckled to himself. The two had been working together for about a week on some sort of grand mystery expose for Keith's column. They had been keeping the details secret so far, with Keith saying he wanted to show Lance once they had a solid argument built and backed up, and Lance didn't press him on it. He let himself into the apartment and dumped the bags on the floor in the hallway.

Coran was Allura's godfather and had been Lance and Keith's professor for their Intro to Journalism unit (Lance had been desperate for extra credit, as he majored in education and childcare) in college, the only class that they had shared. The man was middle-aged and slightly eccentric in his journalistic methods and topics of focus, but it's why Keith was so excited to work with him on this case. Keith ran a monthly column in a semi-popular magazine focusing on urban legends and US folklore, a sort of myth-busting. He absolutely adored it, and Lance loved watching him take so much pride doing a job he enjoyed. But Coran was an undeniable expert in all things folklore-y, and the pair had been meeting frequently to discuss the case.

In the spare room, Keith's library book was still open on a page near to the end, his laptop gone into sleep mode as they were out. The window was open, letting in a draft from the cool September air and pulling at the pages of the book, not quite strong enough to turn them over. Lance reached to close the window and locking it with the key in the desk drawer, pausing to skim over the open page. It was about early Slavic burial rites and beliefs about the dead. Something to do with how bodies decomposed. It looked pretty interesting, he made a mental note to revisit the page later. 

Lance marked the page and moved to book to the side shelf, settling down at the desk to organise his timetable for work that week. He got a job at a recreation center for kids and teenagers just over six months ago, and this month Nyma had put him in charge of weekly activity organisation. He loved his job and the kids he worked with, but there was a lot that went into it, and man there were some brats occasionally. Like Kevin. Kevin managed to anger Lance in a way that - year-old should not be able to angry a grown man, but that kid was such a little asshole ALL the tim-

Okay, he was getting distracted. He'd planned up until Saturday afternoon, and he wasn't even on shift this weekend. Lance was going to count that as a win, so he got out of the chair and walked around the apartment to stretch his legs for a few minutes. He noticed that their bedroom window was wide open with the curtains swaying in the building winds. He closed it and made sure that he locked it this time. Even took the key out of the lock and placed it on the nightstand, to be certain. There wasn't exactly a reason for it, but something about it all made Lance feel uneasy.

True to their words, Coran and Keith knocked on the front door just under an hour after they had left. They offered to let Coran stay over for dinner, but he declined, saying he had some very important 'tools' to gather for their next meeting. He left with his usual eccentric courtesy and the pair focused on making dinner and setting up Netflix to finish off the latest season of a show Hunk had forced them into watching. He saw a wink of metal under the light on Keith's chest, and took the chain between his thumb and forefingers, gently drawing Keith in closer to him.

"Is this new or am I just oblivious?" He held the pendant up to his face to get a closer look. 

"You're oblivious, yes," He took the chain out of Lance's hands, "but this is new. Coran gave it to me." he held the pendant between his teeth, winding his arms around Lance's neck and pulling him close enough to just graze the other boy's mouth with his own, the cool bite of the silver sending jolts down Lance's spine. "You like it?" God that man was going to be the death of him.

"Coran's buying you jewelry? Should I be worried?" He grinned, and Keith let the pendant fall from his mouth.

"Very funny, McClain. It's for the case, some kind of folk protection symbol. He thought I should take it." he dipped his head to rest it in the crook of Lance's neck, pecking his skin quickly, and they stood, swaying slightly to the faint hum of the radio. Keith's fingers were curling around the short hair at the nape of Lance's neck, and he moved to hug the other man's waist tighter, spinning lazy circles to some 80s synthpop neither of them could quite recognise. A few minutes passed before the beeping of the oven pulled them from their haze and back to the reality, and made Lance realise that actually, he could really go for some dinner right now.

////////////////////////////////////////////////

After dinner Keith was lying on Lance's chest on the couch, their legs entangled and tired brains only half focused on the show they were meant to be watching. It was a cop show that Hunk and Pidge had recently become obsessed with and commanded them to catch up on, and they really were trying to. Lance's hand was rested on the small of Keith's back, under his shirt, and Keith's arms were slung over Lance's chest with his fingers laced to form a pillow of his hands. Lance was tracing patterns onto Keith's skin, idly sketching out a universe in below his ribcage. Keith hummed and turned his head, rested his chin on the backs of his palms to stare up at him and Lance swung his gaze to meet his eye. 

Keith's pupils were blown and his eyes were roaming across Lance's face as if trying to burn the sight into his memory. He moved his hands to either side of Lance's head and pushed himself up over him. Lance looked up, incapable of tearing his eyes away from Keith's face as he ducked his head down to Lance's neck. 

He stretched his head back to expose more of himself under Keith's lips and could feel the other man's breath hot against his skin. Keith drew his lips down to the base of his collarbone and drew back to take the sensitive skin between his teeth, biting down just enough for Lance to feel a sharpness run down his spine. Lance could feel the heat against his skin, hyperaware of everywhere they were touching and his hand slowly tensing up on Keith's bare back, digging his nails into the skin. 

Keith moved his mouth further up Lance's neck, leaving behind a trail of hot open kisses left to sting in the cool air. His lips reached Lance's jaw and he could hear Keith's breathing coming raggedly so close to his ear. He sat back and swatted Lance's hand off of his back, before grabbing the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head, tossing it on the floor, forgotten. His hair was ruffled and stuck out in ten different directions. Lance snorted and tried to run his hands through it in an attempt to tame it as he leaned back down, but Keith dived straight to Lance's mouth. 

The force was almost bruising, and Lance jerked further into Keith's hold out of reflex. His hands flew to Keith's bare waist and he used the hold to pull the two closer together. The other man cupped a hand on Lance's jaw and moved it to tilt his head up and deepen the kiss while hooking his other hand under Lance's knee and pulling his leg up around his own hips. The heat, the pressure, and the electrifying feel of Keith all over him made his head spin and his body shift into autopilot, acting on muscle memory built up from years of familiarity with the way they moved together. Lance's fingers flew from Keith's waist, traveling up his bare chest in the small space between them until he reached his neck. He brushes his left index finger up the side, running his touch in tandem with Keith's pulse. 

The moment Lance brushed his finger over where Keith's vein was, he froze and jerked away like Lance had burned him. He sat up and flung back to the other end of the couch as if pulled by some outward force. He stayed sitting on his ankles at the far end with one hand clamped down on his neck, eyes wide and breathing heavy. Lance pushed himself up into sitting and reached out a slow hand to Keith's forearm.

"Babe, what's wrong? Did I hurt you?" His words were tinged with concern and his voice was slightly raspy. Keith gave a small shake of his head and broke eye contact with Lance, still not moving his hand from where his fingers had been.

"No, you didn't. It's nothing, nothing. I- I just. Don't know what came over me. I just freaked out, it wasn't you." Lance reached out to him while he stammered, and noticing him flinch, lowered and slowed his touch to hover above Keith's elbow instead. Once he was sure that Keith had calmed down enough to be touched, he rested his hand there.

"Hey, it's okay." Keith turned to face him again, big dark eyes flitting back and forth across his face.

"I think it's just because I'm tired. It's messing with me." He might be on to something there, he'd been waking up in the middle of the night, several times a night every day for over a week now. Lance told him that he could always wake him up if he couldn't sleep, but Keith always refused to, saying that just being next to him was enough. It was sweet, but stupid. But not wasn't the time to voice that opinion, Keith needed him to be calming.

"You don't have to do anything, I'm right here." He gave Keith's arm a gentle squeeze. He held his arms out in invitation, and Keith crawled to him. Lance made sure to keep away from his neck, holding him around the chest with one arm and using his free left hand to card through Keith's hair. He kissed Keith's cheek and waiting until his breathing had slowed to normal before speaking.

"Do you want to just go to sleep?" Keith nodded, teeth worrying into his lower lip.

"I feel dizzy. Like I'm gonna throw up, or pass out. Maybe both." Lance shifted and Keith moved off of his lap. He stood up and took Keith's hands, which he had finally removed from his neck. It was too dark in the living room to see if there was anything on his skin that Lance may have accidentally hurt by touching. 

"Come on then, I'll help you. You want some water?" He left to get a bottle out from the fridge and took Keith by the hand and led him to their bedroom, where a cool night breeze was flowing in from the open window. 

He forced Keith to at least get changed into pyjamas before crashing out on their bed, and once he was wrapped up Lance started to retire himself. It had been a long day for them both, and Lance flung a lazy arm around Keith's shoulders and held him close while the two drifted off, feeling the draft in their sleepy faces.


	2. Wildflowers

When Lance woke up, Keith was mumbling and calling out, though still undeniably asleep. His words came slurred and ran into each other, tinted with a brand of emotion that Lance wasn't awake enough to identify. He felt the heavy arms of sleep reach for him again, and he saw Keith fade from his vision. He wouldn't remember it in the morning.

He woke up again to shouting. Keith was screaming and Lance bolted upright, still disoriented and in the process of waking up.He whipped over to see Keith next to him, crying out wordlessly like a wounded animal. His eyes were still screwed shut and he was shaking his head, but he didn't react when Lance tried to jolt him awake.

"Keith? Keith, can you hear me?" He didn't stir, but the scream in his throat died before it had finished at the sound of Lance's voice. 

"No, no no no no." Keith was rambling and stammering but it was the first coherent word he had said so far. He locked into the verbal cycle, repeating the chorus of 'no' despite Lance's attempts to wake him. Some were desperate screams, but some sunk to a paralysing beg barely above a whisper.

Lance's panic rose as he flicked the bedside lamp on and tried again and again to wake Keith. Out of options and alternatives, he ran to the kitchen and grabbed the pitcher of water from the counter, holding it under the cold tap until it filled about a liter. He raced back to their room before dumping the water over Keith's head. Keith instantly bolted to sitting and flailed, nearly falling out of bed, wide awake, soaking wet, and pissed off. The water dripping steadily from his hair looked ready to boil.

"LANCE WHAT THE FUCK?!" He ran a hand through his hair and shook it out like a dog, spraying drops all across the room. Lance stood, heart rate gradually slowing and worry melting away. He stood there, dazed, with the pitcher in his hand. 

"You were screaming, and I couldn't wake you up." He held the pitcher up, "So I panicked." Keith looked furious, but when Lance mentioned screaming, the anger cracked into shock.

"Screaming?" Lance nodded, and set the pitcher down on the floor, moving towards his boyfriend in the way you moved towards a lion, slow and unsure.

"I tried calling you and shaking you and nothing was working. You just kept rambling and screaming and crying." He tucked one strand of soaking hair behind Keith's ear and met his eye with a small smile to hide his relief that Keith was himself again, "It was creepy as fuck." 

Keith broke the eye contact to check the clock on his nightstand. 4:47am. His eyes flicked over to the open window. Lance, noticing where his attention was, darted back to the desk that he was certain he had left the key on. It was still sat there, with the picture of them next to it lying face down. Keith tensed and went to grab the key and lock the window shut. Pondering the key in his hand, he undid the small metal chain around his neck, holding Coran's pendant, and hooked the key onto it, redoing the clasp around his neck. He turned back to Lance, his face severe.

"Did you leave the window open?" There was a cold intensity in the set of his eyes, and Lance reached across the feet between them and took Keith's hand to ease him. While Keith had been at the window, he had set the picture back upright. It was of the two of them, asleep on a couch just over three years back. They were at a party a few weeks after they had just started dating, and Pidge had thought it would make good blackmail material. Lance instead, absolutely loved it and printed it out to frame when they first moved in together. 

"I thought I had locked it while you were out, but I probably didn't close it right." Keith's face contorted as his mind flew through the paranoia-fuelled possibilities. Lance put a hand to his cheek and drew him away from them.  
"Hey, I can see you stressing about this. The wind probably just blew it open while we were asleep." He looked Keith up and down for a minute and barely managed to suppress a laugh. His head was soaked entirely, with the water slowly dripping down and dampening across his shoulders and chest. "You look like Shiro's wet cat." 

"Yeah yeah, I'll go get changed. And we are going back to sleep because I am fucking exhausted." Now that Keith had relaxed somewhat, the corner of his mouth tugged up as he gently shoved Lance away in mock annoyance.

"I'll go get you a towel and some dry pillows." He crossed the hall from their bedroom into the bathroom and unhooked the two green towels from the radiator. He made a detour to the living room the grab the couch cushions and when he was back at their bed, threw one of the towels at Keith's head. He swapped out the wet pillows and laid the second, larger towel over the damp patches on the sheets, he would change them in the morning but he was too tired now. He put his own pillows over the towel and threw the cushions down on his side of the bed. 

Keith finished towel drying his hair (well, finished it as much as Keith ever actually dried his hair), and flopped back down on his side next to Lance. He reached over him to flick the lamp off and lay down to face him. After a few minutes, Lance whispered to him,  
"I'll admit, this isn't usually why we're up at 4am." Lance could feel more than see Keith's brow furrow and inward groan at the joke. 

"Lance, I will smother you if you keep me up any longer." Lance laughed and wriggled closer to Keith, who opened his arms and wrapped them around him out of second nature. 

"No you won't, you love me too much." He pressed his back against Keith's chest and the arms around his waist held him secure,

"Maybe I do, but don't go telling. I have a reputation." Lance smiled and hummed into Keith's hand. His voice had dropped to barely about a whisper, as tiredness restored its hold over the pair.

"Sure thing loverboy. Just don't wake me up again." 

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Work was loud, as usual, and draining, as usual. It was Friday, just over a week after the sleep talking. In the days since then, Keith hadn't screamed again, but he had nightmares nearly every night. Lance once again told him to wake him up, but once again Keith refused to, telling him in the morning instead. He was dizzier a lot recently, like the night before the screaming. Keith would polarise between and handsy teenager to being terrified of physical contact in an instant, even though Lance had made a conscious effort to avoid his neck when they were close. 

Wednesday usually wasn't as 'exciting' a day as the others, in his coworker Nyma's words. But when the excitement stems from hyped up elementary schoolers and large groups of high schoolers playing air hockey, it was impossible to be dull. Lance ran the ping pong tournament from noon and a few creative activities for the younger kids in the after-school club until their parents came to pick them up at 5 and Lance himself left an hour or so later.

When he got home he could hear Coran's shrill boom stemming from the spare room and ducked his head in. Papers, pictures, and open books were strewn across the floor, and Keith was sat at his laptop, typing furiously while Coran droned on and paced the room behind him. 

"But if we find a way to connect the series directly to Lo- Lance my boy! Lovely to see you here!" 

"I live here." 

"Even better, it's a lovely place." Lance quirked an eyebrow and Keith's head shot round to see him. Lance dumped his bag on the floor and hung his jacket on the peg in the hall next to the doorway. He walked in and Keith stood to kiss his cheek hello. 

"Hello then, Coran. What's all of this?" He gestured around the room and stooped to pick up a stray sheet of paper, flipping it from the blank side to see what it said. It was a printing of an old photograph, about 1950s by his guess. It was a tall, angular man with long, slicked-back grey hair, despite looking in his mid-twenties. Keith peeked around his arm to check what paper it was, and his eyes sparked when he saw it.

"That's for our case. City based urban legend, we just needed it for contextual purposes."

"Keeping it local this month then?" Lance smiled as the gleam in Keith's eye carried him away in his enthusiasm. Lance could listen to Keith get excited and talk about something for hours, even if it was how to clean a tortoise or some similar nonsense.

"Yes! There have been reported sightings of someone with his description going from the mid-1800s all the way to the last three months. And get this," He crouched down and rummaged around until he found the paper he was looking for. It was another picture, this time in faded colour. It was a similar looking man surrounded on both sides by four women. 

The woman on the far right was tall and built like a monster truck, or like she could snap Lance in half. On the man's direct left stood a skinny girl with long blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail and her arm flung around the man's shoulders playfully. On his right, a woman was leaning back on the bridge railings, with dark lipstick and her arms crossed. At the end, the fourth woman stood with a buzzcut and almost regal elegance. She was wearing dark sunglasses, holding a folded up white cane in her hand. A cat was sitting at her feet, almost mimicking her posture.

"In most of his sighting this century, he's been accompanied by these women. There's not much detail on them, and there's way less evidence of then than there is of h-." He cut himself off by doubling over and coughing violently into the crook of his elbow. Lance bent down to rub his back and Coran left to get him some water from the kitchen. The coughing fits had started last Thursday, and were becoming more common since the weekend, but never serious enough to warrant a doctor. Not that Keith would visit a doctor unless physically dragged there, anyway. They tended to pass when Keith took a moment to calm down or drink something.

When Keith's coughing finally subsided, Coran drew something from his pocket and pressed it onto Keith's hand with a silent nod. He stuffed it into his pocket and the older man turned to Lance,

"I think we've done enough work on this for today." Lance nodded and helped him gather up the mess on the floor and stack it semi-neatly onto the shelves. Once the floor was visible again, Lance drew Keith from Coan's earshot and spoke to him in a low voice,

"Baby, are you sure everything's okay? You've been stressed out to the point of making you ill, and I hate seeing you like this." He put a hand on Keith's waist and laced their free fingers together. 

"I know, and I'm sorry that you're worrying so much about me. But I'll be fine, and once I've written the article, everything's going back to normal, promise." He leaned in until his lips were brushing the shell of Lance's ear, "And maybe then we can find some ways to relax." He pressed his body flush against Lance, and Lance's eyes went wide and he sounded suspiciously like a 90s dial-up internet provider.

"You can't just do that, Coran is literally right next door!" Keith ducked his head and snorted,  
"I'm convinced you're evil sometimes." Keith raised his head again and broke their fingers apart to wind his arms around Lance's neck.

"Maybe sometimes, but you love it." There was a tinge of a smirk buried in Keith's words, something Lance loved to draw out of him, in most situations. Not with Coran next door.

"I love you, I do not love it when you're evil." 

"But you don't hate it." Keith leaned in closer until their lips were close enough to kiss, but just hovered there, barely touching.

"Not as much as I should do." he murmured against the other man's lips, Keith's breath warm against his skin. 

"Right!" Coran sprang into the hall, oblivious to his interruption. Keith dropped his forehead onto Lance's chin in frustration, and Lance just chuckled.

"I think it's time I went back to my own quarters. After all, we need to be at Shiro and Allura's by 7 and as we can see," He gestured to himself, still in his teaching wear, "- I am not up to party standard. So I will bid you boys farewell and reunite with you later this evening!" With that, he left the apartment, shutting the door firmly behind him before either of them could move to escort him out. Keith stared at Lance, bewildered.

"Shit, that's tonight! I completely forgot the date." Lance ran a hand through his boyfriend's hair.

"It's fine, we have about two hours and we both already know what we're wearing. Besides," he added, "nobody except Coran gets to a party on time. Not even Hunk." 

Lance groaned in frustration and turned, heading to their bedroom. Upon stepping through the door, he was hit with the overwhelming scent of plants. The entire bedroom was covered with various sticks and flowers, tied in bunches all about the room. The purple flowers from yesterday were still in their vase on Keith's side of the bed, but it was not joined by bundles of stalks, wildflowers, and was that holly?? It's April for Christ's sake. The window ledge was barely visible underneath the wreath of purple flowers, holly, and even a few roses, along with a load of other plants that Lance didn't recognise.

Keith followed him in a few moments later, with Lance still stood in the hallway, perplexed. Keith's arms wound around his middle and he dropped his chin on Lance's shoulder, gazing with amusement around their bedroom.

"So you've taken in our new garden then?"

"Babe, what the hell is all this?" he felt Keith shrug against him.

"Coran brought it over when he came round this morning. He put it up himself, some roses, some holly, some garlic flowers, wild stuff. Called it a late housewarming present." 

"We've been living here for nearly two years." He stepped forward and Keith let go of him. He carried on further into the room, shifting thought bundles of flowers and plant covering every visible surface.

"A very late housewarming present. I've learnt to not question what he does, he's superstitious." Lance held out one of the purple flowers he couldn't name and leaned to tuck it behind his boyfriend's ear. But when he got close enough, he noticed two small, dark patches on Keith's skin, where his neck met his shoulder. His stomach dropped to Hell.

Stop. Think. What the fuck do you mean think, _look at it._ Don't get angry, do not get angry. How am I meant to not get angry if he fucking- He wouldn't. But it's right there. Calm down, don't get angry. I don't understand. He wouldn't. I'm gonna throw up. He wouldn't. I'm gonna fucking lose it. **CALM DOWN.** Talk. 

"What the fuck is that?" He didn't yell, but his voice was unmistakably hard and his face was unnaturally severe. The grin fell from Keith's face and he stared up at him, confused.

"What the fuck is what?" Lance stepped away from him and swung his arm out to the door.

"Go see for yourself." Keith shot him a look but went anyway, crossing the hall to inspect himself in the bathroom mirror for whatever it was that Lance was talking about. The bruises caught his eye and his face went white. He met a seething Lance's eyes in the mirror and started to shake his head.

"I know what it looks like. And it's not."

"It's not?" Lance didn't believe him.

"They're bites." He whipped around to face Lance and started walking towards him.

"Yeah, no shit honey." 

"No, Lance, insect bites. Give me your hand." He let Keith take his hand and lift his fingers up to the spots of purple. Sure enough, there were tiny lumps under the skin, like a mosquito bite. He knew (from much experience) that Keith didn't get bumps under his hickies, and his shoulders drooped. He pulled Keith into a vice-like hug and the other hugged him back. 

"God I'm so sorry, I feel like such a dick." His head fell onto Keith's shoulder, but the other man drew back and tilted his chin back up to meet his eye.

"It's okay. I would've been way worse, if I thought you were cheating." He pecked Lance on the forehead and Lance let his eyes slip shut. "But I wouldn't do that to you, never. I love you more than anything." 

"I love you too, and I wouldn't either. And I'm sorry again, for jumping to conclusions so quickly." 

"Come on, we still need to get ready." He pulled Lance back into their room to get changed, they only had a few hours before they had to meet Pidge, Hunk, and Shay at Hunk and Shay's apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter: the engagement party!  
> i know it's kind of vague atm, the next few chapters should make everything pretty clear  
> comment if you enjoyed, it lets me know that people want more of this!  
> 


	3. A Glass.

They arrived at Hunk's shared apartment with Shay at 7:17, greeted by a smiling couple and a grumpy looking Pidge (probably because she'd agreed to let Shay chose her outfit, which was a white blouse and poofy green skirt, to her dismay). The three of them piled into the back of Keith's car, and after the standard hellos and seatbelt buckling, Keith drove them to Shiro and Allura's house, about twenty minutes downtown. Throughout the journey, Hunk was babbling about how excited he was, how adorable the wedding was going to be, and Lance was nearly twisted out of his seat in order to talk to him properly, but careful not to jolt the tray of cupcakes that Hunk had thrown across his knees.

When they arrived, the front of Shiro and Allura's house was decked in twinkling fairy lights, with friends and relatives mingling outside in the dewy spring air on the various deck chairs strewn about the front lawn. Allura had proposed about two weeks before, and proceeded to tell every detail to the group chat after Shiro had accepted (and also cried). They were perfect for each other in a way that was almost sickening to witness, but still sweet. 

When Lance and Keith stepped through the door, they barely made it five steps before Keith was swept into a bear hug by Shiro, swinging him around the room until Keith was hitting at his shoulders and yelling to put him down. Shiro set him down with a massive grin and hugged him again, drawing the rest of them into a massive group hug. Allura was quick to follow, practically jumping on top of them and squealing. 

"I'm so glad you guys could make it!"

"Like we were going to miss it! We all had a bet on who would ask who." Pidge ended up being the only one of the five calling it right, and was now exceedingly smug.

"Yeah, thanks Shiro. I'm now $40 richer." Lance flicker her on the ear, pretending to be oblivious when she whipped around and glared at him. "Somebody's a sore loser," she caught sight of her brother Matt, who had got there early to help set up, and left the group to go talk to him instead.

Lance pulled Allura aside and squeezed her tightly again. When he was a teenager, he'd had a bit of a crush on her, in the way that half the planet had a crush on Allura, but it was juvenile and faded pretty quickly. After he'd left home to start college, he came to see her much like his sisters, and was just as protective, to the point of giving Shiro 'The Brother Talk' when the two had started dating, despite being six years younger than Shiro, and posing not even within an inch of a threat to the man. 

"You look amazing!" And it was true, she did. Her white hair cascaded in soft waves down her back, against a floor-length shimmering pink dress that wrapped around her shoulders. She grinned and straightened his tie slightly.

"You don't clean up too bad yourself, Lance. How's Keith, Shiro mentioned he was a tad under the weather?" His smile dropped slightly, and his eyes searched around to try and spot Keith, and saw him talking in a corner with Coran. He had pulled his collar aside, and was showing the insect bites on his neck to him, and the other man's face fell. He tried his best not to think too hard about that so he just turned back to Allura and shrugged.

"He's okay, but pretty sick. I told him that if I catch him drinking tonight I'm hauling his ass home." She nodded, arms folded and holding her chin.

"Good, I was about to recommend he stay off of drinking if he's ill." Lance didn't want to think about Keith's dizziness, or his nightmares, or the coughing right now.

"Did Coran tell you about the floristry he made our room into?" She perked up at that,

"No, but if it's anything like his own house at the moment then I can imagine." She led him into the kitchen and began pouring them both a plastic flute of rose wine each. "Flowers, everywhere. Every kind too, it's extremely odd. There's a lot of garlic flowers, and I didn't even know garlic had flowers until I saw them covering the place. Small purple ones, they are." Lance snapped his fingers.

"I was wondering what that smell was!" She held the cup out to him and he took it, both taking a sip, "Did he tell you why he got so many, and why garlic of all choices?" but she just shrugged in response.

"I've known that man an extremely long time Lance, and I could only give you reasons for maybe 37% of what he does. But he usually has a reason, so I trust him on most things." At that moment on of Allura's colleague's ran up to her, squealing in a horrifically grating voice, and Lance decided to make himself scarce.

He mingles with the other guests for a while, making polite small talk with various colleagues and relative on both Shiro's and Allura's sides. He had a few more drinks in the meantime, only because Keith was designated driver, but after the better part of an hour he got tired of strangers and went off to find his friends instead. 

He found Hunk with Keith and Shay on the couch and flopped down to sit on his boyfriend's lap, careful not to spill any of his wine and ignoring the look that Jenny shot him. Fuck Jenny. The four chatted for an hour or so, catching up on work, families, all that jazz. It had been way too long since Lance had genuinely met up with his best friend, and since Keith avoided double dates like the plague, it was nice to hand out with the couple together. 

Lance could feel the bubbles rise up to his head and warm up his stomach, and he relaxed back into Keith's chest, while the man was already sunken into the sofa. He leaned his head against Keith's shoulder and listen to Hunk rant about his new boss at the garage, feeling his eyelids weigh him down into tiredness. The living room was warm and stuffy, but Keith was cool beneath him, his heartbeat steady. After a while, he felt Keith begin to shiver and leant up to face him.

"You cold?" he shook his head and just rubbed Lance's shoulder, not looking at him.

"Nah, I'm fine. I think there's just a draft in here." Keith reached across him to pick up the glass of water that he had set on the coffee table, but the instant the glass was in his hand, it shattered. 

Keith's face blanched, and the party around them seemed to go silent, string at keith with shards of glass still cluthced in his hand, and the remnants of the glass and its contents on the floor. He looked up and saw Lance staring at him, concerned, and shoved Lance off of his lap, bolting into the hallway and up the stairs. 

"I'll clean up the glass and get Shiro." Hunk stood and clapped Lance on the shoulder, shocking him back into the room, "Go see if he's okay." He nodded and headed upstairs to the bathroom. He waited for a while before knocking, knowing that Keith sometimes needed to be alone to gather himself.

"Keith?" He rapped on the door, leaning his forehead against the wood, "Keith, what's going on, is everything okay? Keeeeeeeeeith." Lance pounded his fist on the locked bathroom door until Keith opened up a few minutes later. He looked pale, and there was a dizzy glaze in his eyes and a sickly sheen on his skin, with his hair pasted down on his forehead. The irritation bled out of Lance and morphed into concern at the sight of him. 

He shot a hand up to feel the other man's face, but Keith flinched. He stopped his hand midair and stepped into the bathroom, closing the door and locking it behind him. He brought his hand up again, slower this time, and rested it on Keith's cheek. His face felt cold but he was sweating as if they were in a desert, and Lance brought his other hand to Keith's hip. Keith's face blanched further and he bolted to retch over the toilet bowl. 

Lance ran and slid down next to him, trying to scrape his hair out of his face and rubbing soft circles on his back as he shook. He heaved and coughed a few more times, but nothing came up, except a small smattering of blood from the exertion against the porcelain. When he was certain that it was over, Keith flushed the toilet and leant back, while Lance grabbed a discarded plastic champagne flute that the last user had left there. He filled it with water and handed it to Keith, who gave a small smile in thanks.

"You have to talk to me baby, I'm worried." Keith let Lance lead him to sit on the floor, leaning against the bathtub and throw a towel around his shoulders to try and warm him up. Lance knelt facing him and held on to the edges of the towel as Keith ducked his head.

He took a flannel from the sink counter and ran it under the water. Gingerly, he took Keith's hand and lay it across his knee, washing over the shallow cuts from the glass and checking to make sure there weren't any smaller shards stuck in his skin.

"It's nothing, I think I'm just getting sick." Lance hooked a finger from his free hand under Keith's chin and brought him to meet his eye.

"Don't give me that Kogane. Tell me what's happening, I know you know." He watched Keith's eyes flit around his face, taking in everything he could. There was an uncertain sorrow hidden there, a story that Lance desperately wanted to know. He could see the conflict play out on Keith's face as he weighed up unknown arguments to himself. A stern resolve settled across his face and his shoulders slumped down. 

"Lance, do you know how much you mean to me?" His gaze was steady and fixed on Lance's face with a sharp intensity that took him back slightly. He opened his mouth to respond, but Keith didn't give him time to. "I love you with everything that I have." He kept a steely determination despite his voice starting to waver, he reached up to grab the hand that was stroking his cheek. 

"We're a bubble. Our world is our own, it's peace and warmth and a kind of fucking _love_ that I never thought I was capable of before you. And yeah, we piss each other off sometimes but I don't know what my life would be without you, and I don't want to." He moved closer to Lance until their faces were only a few inches apart.

"But I'm on the brink of something huge, I can feel it. There's more to our lives than what we can see in them, so much more that's just out of reach and I'm so close to finding it, Lance. And whatever I'm about to find, it could shatter that, and the thought of losing you scares me. Scares me more than anything else I can think of." Keith was rambling straight without a filter, not bothering with his usual thought in his speech. He was talking fast and stammering at points, tripping himself up over his words,  
"I know I'm not the best at talking about these things, and I don't tell you how much I need you as often as I should, but I need you, Lance. I need this." Lance let out a small laugh to try and diffuse the building tension in the room.

"Keith usually I love it when you get romantic but you're starting to scare me here." At that, Keith took Lance's hand from his cheek and pressed his knuckled to his lips, murmuring his words against them, almost too quiet for Lance to hear.

"I know, I know. But I need you to know that, in case the worst happens. We don't know how things will go, and I never want you doubting how much I love you, not even for a second." He turned his eyes back to Lance, who watched him with bated breath. 

"I love you too. And I do know, I know how much losing you would ruin me. Which is why I get so afraid when you're like this, because I don't know how I can make it better." Lance watched Keith's face as he took in his words. 

"You won't lose me, I swear. I'll be okay, alright?" He took Lance's hand from his lips and smiled, still keeping their fingers laced, turning to stare at the door, "I know that we have to go back out there at some point, but can it just be us, even for a minute?" Lance felt the corner of his mouth tug upwards.

"I'm always up for us." He twisted so that he was full sat on the floor, and pulled Keith into his lap, holding him there while he drew in shallow breaths, his skin still cold through the towel. They stayed on the bathroom floor like that, wrapped in each other's arms and assurances until there was a knock at the door from another guest. Keith got up first and offered Lance his hand up. They left together despite the odd look it earnt them from Allura's cousin, who was waiting outside.

When they got back down, Coran had called the two of them a cab, so they made their way around the house to say some quick goodbyes before going home.

"Hey, Allura." She whipped around, breaking the polite but stiff conversation with someone Lance didn't recognise. 

"Lance! Is Keith okay?"

"Yeah, he's a bit better, but Coran called us a cab and we're gonna head off, sorry to leave so early." She shook her hand at him, swaying slightly and pulling him into a hug.

"Shhhhhhhhh, it's okay. Take care of your boy, I'll still be engaged tomorrow." She was still swaying, and stronger than she looked, so Lance was being swayed by her. He hugged her back and grinned. 

"Someone's gotta keep him in check. And speaking of tomorrow," he drew back and pointed at her. Probably as a result of how much she'd drank that night, she seemed to get in a staring contest with his finger, glaring at it and following it around as he talked. "We're still on for lunch next weekend right?" She snapped her attention back to him and nodded. 

"Yes! I'll talk to you soon, Lance." He pulled away from her and headed over to Pidge, who was standing back by Hunk after disappearing to nerd out with Matt and mess with Coran for most of the night. Her hair had fallen back into its usual frizz, which Shay was staring at, forlorn at the loss of her hard work. 

Keith had already said his goodbyes, tending to be much quicker than Lance (as he was in any form of social interaction) and was waiting for him in the taxi. He gave his hugs to the group, and promised to let them know when Keith was feeling better. He thanked Hunk for cleaning up the glass and left, climbing into the back seat which smelled suspiciously like vomit and air freshener, and the driver took off to their apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's like 1am and i'm just glad to have fniished this chapter.   
> I have a metric fuckton of schoolwork atm so i'll try keep updates to once a week but if a chapter comes a few days late please don't kill me.  
> lance is Not A Fan of all of keith's talk like that, so this should be fun.  
> please leave a comment if you enjoyed, it keeps fic authours going!!


	4. Warmth

Soft yellow sunlight filtered through their threadbare curtains, falling into Lance's eyes as his head span from the night before. Memories of the party, of Keith freaking out and puking, seeped into the forefront of his mind.

His arm was around Keith's waist, his hair tickling Lance's nose as the other man slept. Lance pecked the shell of his ear before untangling himself and getting up despite the tiredness in his limbs. Flowers still covered every possible surface of their room, and garlands hung from the walls, stuck up with tape by Coran the day before. The air was heavy with the scent of a dozen different plant types, fragrances battling each other to prevail. It was beautiful, as if their room had been left to the weeds for centuries. It would be extremely beautiful if it wasn't so _strong_.

He grabbed a few plastic bags from the kitchen and began to clear the shelves and nightstands, trying to keep quiet so that Keith could sleep. Lance wasn't sure if last night's episode was another one of Keith's recent problems, that tend to pass in a few hours, or if this was something that had morphed into severity. Either way, rest would do him good. 

Keith began to stir just as Lance had cleared most of the room. He decided to leave the wild roses that Coran had stuck to the wall, mostly because they looked pretty and Lance was a sucker for a nice aesthetic. Keith was propped up on his elbows, his eyes squinting shut in the sunlight.

"Morning, sleeping beauty," Lance finished tying up the second bag and shot his boyfriend a smile, "You feeling better this morning?" The other man nodded, reaching for the bottle of water that Lance had left on his nightstand before they'd fallen asleep and pushing himself up to sit properly. He crawled to sit cross-legged on the bed and touch the back of his hand to Keith's forehead. He was still kind of cold but had warmed up since last night.

"You know, if you want me to, I can reschedule with Allura and we can stay in today?" Keith shook his head and set the bottle down. He twisted around to face Lance better, leaning close enough to short-circuit Lance's brain with a dangerous smirk.

"As much as I'd love to have you to myself," his voice was still rough and husky, the remnants of sleep scratching t his throat, "I'll be okay. Plus I feel bad for having to leave early last night, so go have fun with Allura." He pecked Lance on the cheek and hopped out of bed to shower.

////////////////////////////////////////////

He slid in to the corner booth of a downtown cafe to be met with a very hungover Allura, with her head buried in her hands and letting out a soft groan as a hello. There was a jug of water and two glasses already set out, probably one of the members of staff taking notice of her. He made the effort to be as upbeat as possible just to irritate her.

"Good moooorning Princess, fun night?" She tilted her face up to scowl at him.

"Fuck you, McClain." 

"Love you too 'Lura," he pulled out a menu from the table centerpiece and pondered over it, "What're you getting?" she perked up slowly at the mention of food, still with _proceed with caution_ written over her tired face.

"As long as it's pancakes and there are blueberries I don't care." He snorted.

"Experimental as ever," He decided on the breakfast sub and stood up to find the couter and order for them. 

The waitress was vaguely familiar, as was most of the staff. They'd gotten used to Lance and Allura there on most Saturday mornings since the first few months of their meetups. It was a good routine to have, with food and gossip. He was glad that they were restarting it after not seeing each other for a while. Snapchat was great, but he loved actually seeing his friends more.

When he returned Allura was sitting up, looking slightly less dead and running her finger around the brim of the now-filled glass. 

"I have to admit, I'm impressed you came out today."

"It's 2pm Lance, leaving the house was a matter of pride at this time." She tried to stay deadpan, but cracked and started pouring water int the second glass for him, "Besides, I wanted to check how you and Keith are doing after- well, you know what after. Shiro was going to go round and see him this morning, but I told him that it was best to let him sleep." She slid the glass over to him, "Plus the house is a tip, so I'm afraid I can't stay all day either." He waved it off.

"Don't worry about staying out long, it's fine." He quirked an eyebrow at her, "Wouldnt want to keep you from your man anyway," Lance yelped as she kicked him under the table, right on the shin. "Okay, I may have deserved that." They grinned.

"Speaking of men, how's yours?" Their food was set down in front of them and Allura dove straight into her pancakes.

"He looks better, I just want him to take it easy this weekend, I think he's just burned out." Allura looked up at him and spoke through half a mouthful of blueberry pancakes.

"He better, or I'll be down there to force him." Now that was a threat if Lance had ever heard one. Nobody wanted to be on the receiving end of Allura's wrath, _ever_.

They turned to idle gossip in between eating, and stayed until early evening before Allura had to go home and help Shiro tidy up. She told him about various shenanigans that happened after he had left, including one incident with Pidge, cake, and one of Allura's college friends. That was not one that needed repeating.

Lance stayed in town for a few hours after she left, running various errands to get them out of the way. He went to pick up the groceries and renew Keith's library books, (a few guides to Slavic folklore it looked like, Keith had mentioned them having something to do with his and Corn's newest case) as well as his own astronomy volume, which were supposed to be due the next day. Wow, wasn't he such an adult.

He stepped through the door at about 8, and walked through to the kitchen to see Keith stirring some pasta at the hob. He turned over to see him as he walked into the kitchen, his eyes softer than they'd been in a long while, with no worry in them.

"Look who's home," Lance began to pack away the food he'd got, reaching over to the pan before Keith swatted his hands away. "Wait like five minutes and it'll be ready."

The rest of the evening was.. warm, almost. It was as if the cloud hanging over Keith had rained the night before and simply dissipated. He'd managed to nearly finish the article he and Coran had been doing together, and Lance had to restrain himself from actually cheering. He'd also finished a few more writing project he had on the side and sent them off to the respective editors, so it had been productive all round. Keith was still pretty tired, so they tidied up the dining room and got ready for bed relatively early for two self-confessed night owls. But Lance couldn't bring himself to mind.

///////////////////////////////////////////

Sunday morning had been largely uneventful. When Lance woke up the other side of the bed was empty, and Keith's jacket was gone from its hook on their bedroom door. 

Lance didn't have any shifts that day either, this week being his only weekend off for the month, so he had slept in until 11am. He wandered out of their room, down the hall and into the kitchen, where a little post-it note stuck to the counter read in his boyfriend's rushed scribble,

'Gone to see Coran to check over the article, didn't want to wake you up.  
I love you.   
-K' 

He would've gone to see Hunk and Pidge, but they had gone to the science museum to see an exhibition of the history of space engineering that he didn't understand or care for beyond mild curiosity, leaving Lance on his own with Netflix for the day. Not that he was complaining, it meant he could finally watch trashy reality TV without Keith teasing him for it.

A few hours later, while Lance was just about to wash his facemask off, there was a knock at the door. He rushed to the bathroom to wipe it off quickly, and the knocking came again. He called out to the visitor saying that he was coming, and dried his face before walking to open up. Lance opened the door to reveal two police officers, stoic and professional, the woman on the left raising her hand to knock again.

He felt a sharp stab of visceral fear followed by a steady leak of suspicion spread through his gut at the sight of them. His mind raced a mile a minute trying to rationalise it, that it's probably something that happened around the area, or someone from this building died randomly. It didn't mean anything unless you make it mean something, he told himself.

"Mr McClain?" the man asked. "We're Detectives Rickett and Fisher" he gestured to himself and the woman at his side, respectively. He was about Lance's height, but stockier and stronger, probably in his mid-forties with olive skin that set into shallow lines at his forehead and around his eyes. His hair was greying at the sides and thinning slightly, and his mouth was set into a firm line, his eyes a steady and warm grey. 

The woman standing next to him, Fisher, his partner presumably, was a good few inches shorter than the two men, with deep brown skin and her hair scraped back into a clean bun. She looked tenser than the man as if she was brimming with energy that the confines of professionalism didn't allow to manifest. Lance swallowed as he looked between the two, trying to keep his face stoic and his nerves calm before responding.

"That's me. Has there been a problem, officers? Would you like to come in?" His voice came out tighter than he was going for, but he stepped back, and help the door open into the apartment for them. Almost as if on reflex, the officers gave him a small not nearly at the same time, before heading into the living room. Lance showed them to the couches where they sat, and offered them a coffee, which they politely refused. Fisher softly cleared her throat before speaking. 

"Mr McClain, we've come to speak to you in regards to a recent unidentified body, a John Doe if you will, that was reported to the precinct this morning ." She rummaged in her pocket as she spoke, pulling out a small picture folder and placing it on the coffee table in between the couch and the chair where Lance was sat. She began to pull the pictures out of the folder as she continued.  
"Early this morning, at about 2:45 am, the body of an unidentified adult male was reported and brought in to us. His fingerprints weren't on the system, and he carried no forms of ID on him. The only things we found on him were these." 

She spread the pictures out on the table and moved her hands out of the way so Lance could see. He felt ice grip his heart and his blood run cold. They were all of him, in different places on different days. There looked to be about twenty five in total. In most of them he was walking down the street, or through the window of the rec center -at work how did someone photograph him at work, God there were kids there- but that wasn't all. 

There were some with his friends; Hunk, Allura, Shiro, and Pidge. There was even one of him and Keith, with him smiling in the sun and Keith's face turned away from the camera, looking beyond him at something else. One was from last week, where he'd met Pidge (Hunk couldn't make it because Shay's parents had come over that day) for their usual monthly lunch date, sitting in their corner booth at the Altea cafe. His eyes flew from picture to picture, trying to make sense of it, or a timeline of them, and his confusion must've made itself evident on his face as Rickett spoke up for the first time since being seated.

"Mr. McClain I understand that this is a confusing situation. We were able to find you here using this photograph." he continued, picking up a picture of Lance walking into his building, and placed it in front of him. Whoever this dead guy was had followed him _home_. 

"We asked a few of your neighbors downstairs if they recognised you from that." Lance didn't look up from the pictures to meet his eyes, and he took a deep breath in before continuing.

"If you would be willing to we need you to come down to the station to see if you can identify the body. A lot of the time in cases of stalking-" Lance squeezed his eyes shut tight and felt his entire body cringe at the word. The officer paused briefly, noticing the effect it had, "In cases of stalking, especially to this level, there is often a personal connection, even if just a single meeting. There's a chance you may not have known the man very well, right now you're our best chance at identifying him, so that maybe what might be able to unravel what happened to him." 

"What happened to him?" Lance asked without thinking, because surely they had some idea of what killed the guy, his eyes opening again. The pair looked at each other, asking and answering silent questions before Fisher responded.  
"We don't know yet for sure, Sir. We will inform you of any updates about the case that we are able to share." Lance said nothing, only took a deep breath in and nodded.  
"I'll come in. I just need a minute to get ready and grab my keys." the officers assured him to take his time and that they would wait in the living room for him. 

Lance grabbed his old sneakers from his and Keith's bedroom and focused a bit too hard on lacing them up to prevent his mind from racing. His brain was flicking back to all the days he could recognise from the pictures, searching for anything odd that had stuck out to him at the time, but came up empty. It dawned on him that he was never going to get actual answers from the guy, that he might not even know him at all. He wasn't sure if knowing the guy would be better than a complete stranger following him around. If it was someone he knows- or had known- then it could have been someone he trusted. Lance pulled himself out of speculation and realised he had been gripping his already tied laces for a solid minute, and jerked upright. 

He schooled his face into its usual laidback cheer and went back to the living room, dipping quickly into the kitchen to leave a note for Keith in case he got home before Lance did, briefly explaining that he was at the station but not in trouble, and reminding him that there were leftovers in the fridge if he was hungry. He thought about how he should go about explaining the situation to his boyfriend later on that night, and smiled to himself. Maybe that guy was lucky he was already dead before Keith and his other friends found out. Lance didn't even want to imagine the damage Allura would have done to him. When he finished the note he looked back into the living room and could see the police officers deep in conversation, pointing at various photos to each other, talking just too quiet for Lance to overhear. He cleared his throat and the officers turned to him, abruptly finishing their conversation. 

"Ready, Sir?" Fisher slapped both hands on her knees and pushed herself up, trying extremely hard to appear casual. Lance smiled at her, genuinely appreciating her efforts to ease him, and nodded. "Let's go then!" 

The three left the apartment, Lance remembering to turn off the light before the door was shut and locked. They wound down the stair and out into the police car parked on the side of the pavement. Rickett opened the back door for Lance and he got into the cruiser, taking a moment to stare at all the different equipment at the front of the dashboard. The officers sank into the front seats and officer Fisher began driving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so sorry that this took so long to update, this chapter just _would not_ be written.  
>  so,,,,,, season five huh. tbh i'm salty i miss keith and i dont like lotura bc he's like,,,,, thousands of years old.  
> but, is that a *peers into distance* a plot i see approaching??  
> thank you for sticking with this, if you enjoy it please let me know!! knowing that people actually care about this fic is a huge motivator when writer's block kicks my ass.


	5. void .

The drive to the hospital took about 20 minutes, and Lance passed the time listening to the soft drone of the comm radio up front and taking in the passer-bys that stared into the car, curious at the police presence and the potential criminal in the car. Neither Walker nor Rickett said a word for the entire journey, with Walker's concentration dead set on the road in front of her and Rickett staring stoic out of the window into the city. They pulled through the streets, past the commercial centre and the edges of suburbia before turning into the hospital parking lot on the east side of town. 

The officers got out of the car first, and Lance went to open his door before finding it locked, obviously. It's a police car, dipshit, he reminded himself. Detective Rickett opened the door for him and led him into the station behind Walker, who was already signing the three of them in with the receptionist. She was a clean-cut professional woman in a pantsuit and cleanly straightened black hair. Her eyeliner was smudged slightly on the left side and her smile didn't quite reach her eyes and she checked over Lance's details and directed them to the morgue two floors down. The officers walked on either side of him, drawing stares from patients and families, but the tired and overworked staff pacing the halls barely spared a glance their way. 

As they descended the hospital floors, Lance felt his pulse begin to quicken. He had pushed the details of his situation out of his mind in the car, but now they came crashing back on him with an inescapable gravity. He had questions and worries flurrying around his mind at a pace too fast to keep track of, as thoughts raced in and out of his thought line before he could dwell on any. His thought process became one jumbled stream of confusion and anxiety as the elevator doors opened. He did his best to steel his nerve before stepping out into the cold hallway and following Detective Walker down the corridor. 

There was a clinical and chemical scent in the air, covering the sense of hollowness that bellowed throughout the entire floor. It was strange to walk through doors that Lance knew held potentially hundred of dead bodies in total. People of all ages, races, and life experiences, all sealed behind glossy fire doors and metal trapdoors. The doctors and pathologists walked swiftly across the sterile tile with a professional glaze across their eyes that only came with years in the off-white subterranean that he found himself in. The officers led him through the lefts and rights before stopping at the 'Viewing Room'. Through the window, he could see a small sub-room with a sofa and small wooden coffee table before a door. He felt a dull, cold, panic trace itself across the inside of his ribs, and he hated that he was on his own. He wished that Keith was here, or Hunk, or anyone that meant he wasn't alone with a detective and a dead man. 

Rickett opened the door and led the way into the sub-room. Like the rest of the morgue, it was cold, and the faux leather on the sofa was cracked and peeling from years of wear. He took off his jacket and hung it on the peg attached to the wall. The two officers exchanged a quick glance before crossing the room to the other door and opening it into the actual viewing room. Lance followed them in, hesitant and slow. It was square, tiled, and just small enough to feel cramped with four people inside. At the centre of the room, there was a metal table with a body covered by a sheet resting on top. Next to it was a smaller, plastic table with a few files and a pen scattered on it's top.Lance took in the silhouette of the man, he could see where the cloth fell at the hollow of his throat and in between his ankles. He focused on keeping his breathing steady while the detectives focused on Lance's face, keeping watch for any signs of distress. Walker's voice cut through the tinged silence like a razor.

"Mr McClain, are you okay? Would you like a moment?" she hesitated before tacking on, "You don't have to do this, but it could be hugely important to the investigation." Lance set his shoulders back and nodded, keeping his eyes trained on the man's foot. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the two officers look at each other again before Rickett reached over to the cloth covering the man's head and gently pulled it back to expose up to his collarbones.

Lance tore his eyes away from the body's feet and up to his neck, putting off staring the man in the face for as long as physically possible. There were two gashes that ran from the edge of his jaw all the way down the left side of his throat to the base of his sternum as if a narrow pike had been dragged through his flesh twice in the same way. The passage of the gashes were the exact same, and only a few centimeters apart. The wounds had already been cleaned, but the matching jaggedness was enough to make Lance's chest constrict in horror. Just at the edge of his collarbone, two faded purple spots.   
He drew his eyes to the man's face, and felt every bone in his body break at once. There were rips in his lungs and leaks in his stomach and acid, acid, acid. He couldn't breathe he couldn't breathe he couldn't breathe. Everything was wrong and he was going to be sick. 

He watched from third person perspective as his body moved without his own knowledge or consent, taking step after slow step until he was standing with his body pressed against the table's edge and his hand reaching to the man's hair. Soft, black hair that wasn't a mullet, hadn't been one for over a year Lance. He would hear one of the officers step towards him, before being stopped, probably held back by the other.  
His hand hovered over the hair but didn't touch it, instead tracing over heavy set eyebrows, relaxed and peaceful, not furrowed in their usual concentration or frown. His fingers circled over closed eyes shadowed by purple and under the numbness he felt how cold the skin was, this all felt so wrong. His knees gave way and he sank into the chair parallel to the table, high enough to still look down at the figure laid before him. 

He heard one of the detectives ask him something but he couldn't make out the words, it was just noise that fell away at the face before him. His thumb stayed stroking the dark circle under his eye, stark blue veins tracing a map underneath his closed eyelids. With the exception of the purple, he was pale, the colour even drained from his lips and the tips of his ears. Lance held Keith's face in his hands and took in every inch of his face, trying to reconcile this cold, unresponsive body to his Keith, who had been warm and moving and _alive._

____

He let go of his lover's head and grabbed his left hand instead, grasping it between both of his own and holding the back of his fingers to his forehead. His elbows rested on the table and he kept Keith's hand pressed against his head as his strength left him. The tears came amid screams and sobs and visions of a future with Keith that this room had ripped away from him, from the both of them. His mind raced through memories of them, of fighting, of laughter. Years of Keith's hands on his skin, his words in Lance's ear and his smile burned onto the back of Lance's eyelids forever. He wasn't sure how long he cried for before he felt a warm hand rubbing gentle circles on his back and heard Detective Rickett's low voice, softer than before.

"Mr McCl-" He cut himself off, "Lance. Do you know who this man is?" He heard the scraping of a chair as it was placed behind him and he collapsed into it, silently grateful. Lance took the cold hand away from his forehead, holding it against his lips instead, and nodded.  
"Can you tell us his name?" Lance slowed his shallow breathing a bit and tried to keep his voice from cracking.  


"Keith. Kogane." Lance swallowed thickly, keeping his eyes away from the cold face in case it broke him all over again, "He's my boyfriend, for three years, he- he lives with me." It dawned on him the reason he had even been brought into the hospital and he sat up straight, taking the hand away from his face but not letting go.  
"Wait. The pictures." He turned to Detective Walker, who was trying her best to hide the shine in her own eyes. "Can I see them again?"

Walker nodded and rummages in her pocket for the folder. She spread the pictures out of the plastic table by Lance's legs, and he searched through them before finding the one he wanted. He held up the one of him and Keith, where Keith's head was turned away in the sun, barely able to see them through the wall of tears clouding that was beginning to cloud his vision. He picked it up, still holding Keith's hand in one of his, and showed it to the detectives standing side by side to his right. "That's him. You can't see his face but I remember it, it was last month, I think." Lance watched the implications of the information play out on the detectives' faces, as they realised.

"He didn't take the pictures." Walker finished his thought before he could.

"Sir, can you think of anyone who may have carried a grudge against your partner?" Lance shook his head. 

"No. He never had any enemies, he didn't get close to many people." His voice broke halfway through at the thought of their friends, of Shiro especially, and Lance could feel himself about to break again.  
"Is there a phone in here?" Walker turned to look at Rickett, who pulled an old looking phone from his jacket pocket, and handed it to Lance. "His brother, I need to call his brother."  
With shaking hands he punched in the number of Shiro and Allura's landline that was only used by them when necessary. After a few rings, Shiro picked up the phone with a cheery hello. 

"Shiro?" Lance's voice came out hollow and cracked. He could hear the concern from Shiro's end of the line.  
"Lance, is that you? What's wrong- I mean, is everything okay?" Lance took a moment before responding.  
"Shiro I'm sorry. You need to get to the hospital now, I'm with the police and Keith-" his resolve cracked and he started sobbing again before Rickett offered to take the phone, which he handed over. He leant his head to rest on Keith's still, covered chest and cried into the back of his palm. He squeezed his eyes shut and blocked out sights of Keith's pale face and his neck torn open and the eyes that Lance would never see again.

It took twenty four minutes and thirty seven seconds, but eventually, Walker managed to coax Lance to let go of Keith's hand with one final squeeze and go back to the sub-room to sit down. Walker brought him a blanket from the cupboard on the right wall, and Rickett left to go wait for Shiro at the entrance to bring him down. Lance sat in silence with the detective and gripped the edge of the cotton, his breath still ragged and throat raw from crying. She stared at him with eyes full of stories just like his, the years she had spent watching people lose loved ones, she looked at him with such simple pity and sorrow that Lance couldn't bear to look back at her. 

Shiro burst through the doors with Allura and Rickett behind him, his hair in twenty different directions and his eyes shining and frantic. His eyes fell on Lance's and he silently shook his head, pleading. 

"Where is he?" 

Walker stood up to lead him into the cold viewing room but didn't go in with him, instead leaving him alone with what was left of his adopted brother. Allura sat down next to Lance and pulled him to her, clinging to his hair and gripping his shoulder. He started to shake and she held him tighter and stroked her fingers through his hair. He could feel the sobs rack through her chest as she kept her arms around him, but he didn't cry. There was nothing left to leave him, he had left his tears to cool on Keith's lifeless shoulder. 

Lance couldn't hear anything through the wall, the room next door was terrifyingly silent, pulling down the weight of grief by tenfold. He wasn't sure how long it was before Shiro walked back into the room, seemingly calm but his eyes were bloodshot, rimmed with red and there was a hard tension running through his shoulders. He sank down next to Allura who laced her fingers through his and held on tight. She had let go of Lance by now, but kept his head stooped on her shoulder and a protective arm around him. Shiro's knee began to bounce and he broke the silence at last.

"What happened to him?" The question came out flat, accusatory. Rickett looked to Walker, who sighed slightly before answering.

"We aren't sure yet Sir, but once w-" She didn't meet his eye as she spoke, keeping her voice steady and professional.

_**"Bullshit you aren't sure."** _ His free hand clenched into a fist until his knuckles became flushed with white. There was a steely rage in his eyes and his voice came out coated in ice.  
"My baby brother is lying dead on a table with his neck ripped open and you aren't sure what happened?" He pointed his words into Rickett's chest with his finger, and his voice became harsher, lower, and he continued. "Don't you dare give me that. Someone- something, did this to him and we both know it." He moved to stand but Allura squeezed his hand. The anger seemed to drain from him in an instant, and he was pulled back into his restraint. He closed his eyes for a moment before continuing. 

"Find out who it was. Do your fucking job." He turned to Lance and Allura. His face was blank and unreadable. "Come on Lance, you're staying at ours tonight. Let's go." As the three were about to leave, Rickett stopped them. 

"I'm sorry Mr. Shirogane, but we still need Mr. McClain for a few more questions regarding the dece-. Regarding Mr. Kogane's last known activity." Seeing Shiro's face begin to harden again he added, "It shouldn't take very long, and then he's free to go home." Shiro turned to Lance, about to ask what he wanted, but Lance agreed already.

"I can't leave it like this, Shiro. If I have to answer questions, then I have to answer them." He nodded, and with one final hug from Allura and a promise to meet at the entrance, the couple left. Lance sat back down alongside the detectives, with Walker next to him and Rickett sat on the coffee table a few feet in front. 

"Mr. McClain," Walker began, looking at him with a firm caution, innately familiar with the torrential despair that flickered in the cracks of Lance's face, "discovering that your partner was the one in possession of these images changes the implication. Do you understand that?" The photographs of him. Lance's stomach dropped.

"What do you mean?" She shifted in her seat slightly.

"Well, before, cases like these are often seen in obsession, stalking." She cast her eyes to the sealed door, behind which Keith's body lay still. "But the fact you two were already together, and the fact that as you say, he is present in some of the photographs, it changes our suspicion." 

"To what." The question came out flat through gritted teeth. If she didn't get to the point soon he was going to scream.

"The pictures, and the fact that they were the only possession Mr. Kogane had at the time of death, strongly suggest he was threatened." 

Nobody dared to breathe. Her words sunk in, slowly, then the freight train hit him. He had been used as leverage against Keith by his killer. Walker continued.  
"We know it might be difficult, but can you think of anything, anything at all, that might have caused people to dislike Keith? Enough to hurt him, or to hurt you?" Lance shook his head. He was quiet for a long time. He didn't look at the clock to see how long, didn't want a reminder of time, or he would count the hours, minutes, seconds, since he walked into that room blissfully unaware. Time had ceased and there was only an endless barrage of questions and confusion and why _why **why us? ** _

"No. He's a journalist for a magazine, but it's not massively known and he just writes a column for urban legends and local conspiracies. I mean, he's amazing at it but it's not exactly Area 51 you know? I mean his latest one is about some guy with a few women with him or something." Lance threw his head into his hands, "I just don't understand any of it."

The officers continued to gently press him and he told them everything about Keith's recent behaviour. His sickness, nightmares, even how he had torn between drawing away from Lance and clinging to him. He told them about Shiro and Allura's engagement party, about how he shattered the glass and puked, but nothing beyond that. He wanted their bubble, the bubble within which infinity ended at the bathroom door, to himself for as long as he could hold onto it, before the world hit and they shattered for good.

The officers decided that Lance had given them enough information to carry on their investigation, and walked him back to Allura and Shiro, who were waiting in the reception foyer with vending machine coffee and holding hands. Lance handed in the blanket to the receptionist who took it with a sympathetic smile. When he went to his friends they stood, and Shiro clapped a hand on his shoulder, before pulling him into a tight but brief hug. He sucked in a breath and tried his best to look like he was functional. The smile that pulled at his skin was tight and almost jagged.

"You ready to go home kid?" Lance nodded and the three headed out to door to find Allura's car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm really sorry i swear, but there WILL be more. i promise we're gonna find out what happened to keith!!!!


	6. Bedsheets

Allura and Shiro's apartment wasn't big, per se, but the moment Lance stepped through the door, he felt dwarfed by it. Everything seemed dazed and hollow, like anything he touched would simply shatter on impact. As if the world itself was fit to break under its own weight, unable to hold the gravity of injustice. Lance hadn't said a word since the hospital, and moved on autopilot, letting his legs take their steps without his interference, with his brain making every attempt to escape the situation, to somewhere safe, somewhere happy. 

Allura sat Lance down on the couch and flicked on the radio, no longer able to bear the heavy silence hanging over the three of them. Her and Shiro sat next to him expectantly, and Lance noticed the way her hands wound around his arm, holding on to steady herself. He wanted to scream. 

Nobody said a word, for a long time. The radio droned on, a weather update, a few old songs, it must be one of Shiro's vintage stations, and then the two hosts joked about something Lance hadn't bothered to pay attention to. Shiro was the first to break the silence, clamping his real hand down on Lance's shoulder the way Lance did to his nephew sometimes. 

"Lance, you know you can stay here for a bit," It was unnerving to hear Shiro like this. He'd always been the one among them who had the most restraint, and hearing his voice crack and waver felt invasive. "For as long as you need." He swallowed and took a moment to steady himself.

"But I know you Lance, and I know what's going through your head right now. And I am begging you not to pull away from us. We need each other right now." The hand on his shoulder was starting to squeeze harder, probably unconsciously, but it wasn't enough to hurt. Allura continued his track, with a slower determination behind her words.

"We, Shiro and I, Hunk and Pidge, Coran; we all loved Keith. Still do love him." Allura was the one out of them who was the most acquainted with loss, having lost both of her parents in a car crash six years prior, "It's not the same, I know that, and I can't even begin to fathom-" she paused and steeled her nerve, but Lance could see her grip Shiro's arm tighter. "To fathom what you're feeling right now."

"Do you want me to call Hunk round?" 

No. Yes? He didn't know what he wanted other than Keith. Real Keith, his Keith, warm and breathing and moving with the weight of his explosive caution set heavy on his shoulders like always. He wanted to burn away the image of a cold and drained Keith lying hollow on the hospital's alter, the contrast of his skin and hair sharp enough to rip through Lance's chest. He wasn't sure if he could take another one of his friends staring at him with such a potent sympathy that made him want to rip his hair out. He wanted to shut himself alone and away forever but was terrified of being left on his own, a later reality that he would soon have to face which lingered around the corners of his mind. But not yet. 

He still didn't speak, but he shook his head, not tearing his eyes from the spot of nothing he was so fixated on. Shiro's hand moved to rub between his shoulder blades with an affection that seemed uncomfortable to the point of being rehearsed. As if seeing Lance in this situation was so unnatural for the older man that he went through motions of comfort as a method, to avoid facing the genuine severity of their circumstances. Lance understood. He wanted to run from it too.

He wasn't quite sure when time had chosen to pass again, or when empty plates had set down in front of him, but the hours passed and Allura had forced him to eat, until the sun had gone and the day drew to its end.

"You can stay here if you want Lance, it's Sunday tomorrow so none of us need to worry about work." Siro extended a blanket in his prosthetic that he had retrieved from the airing cupboard a few minutes ago. Lance spoke for the first time since the hospital.

"It's fine, I'm fine Shiro. I can get the bus back to our place." Allura interjected with a fierceness that would've intimidated Lance had he not heard it so many times.

"Absolutely not. You are not getting the bus at this time, and we refuse to take you. Besides," her face softened along her words, "you don't have to go back home right now. You can wait until you feel better." The implication was loud and clear. Having to walk into an apartment he had only known as theirs, but now it was only his. 

"Okay." Allura smiled and Shiro handed him the blanket, and he settled down on the couch.

The night passed by in a sleepless haze, the image of Keith, drained and cold, lying under a white sheet, burned behind his eyelids every time he tried to leave the waking world behind. Sleep evaded him despite all his efforts. At some indiscernible hour, he gave up, throwing the blankets off and choosing to switch on the TV. Anything but static was fine by him. There was a late night comedy show on, one of those ones that are rehearsed to the point of not being funny anymore. A few episodes washed over him, not that he particularly registered anything beyond the change of colours coming from the screen. 

A soft padding in the hallway pulled him back into his own mind, and Shiro stood in the doorway, in a tank top and sweats and looking less put together than Lance had ever seen him. He crossed the room in silence and sat down next to Lance, both keeping their eyes on the screen.

"You're going to think I'm a terrible person for this," He held his face in cupped hands and didn't look at Lance, "But I'm glad you're here." Lance furrowed his brow.

"Why would that make you terrible?" 

"Because it means somebody else is gonna be as fucked up about this as I am." 

_Oh._

Shiro shook his head and dropped it to face the floor, keeping his eyes transfixed on the ground. "Christ, Lance, I'm meant to be getting married. I should be spending the next week picking out cakes and flowers and getting ready to start the rest of my life with the woman I love," Despair bled into his voice, "But instead I have to- _we_ have to put my baby brother in the fucking ground." His hand came up to his mouth to stifle the oncoming sobs, aware that Allura was still asleep two rooms away. 

Lance put a hand on his shoulder, the way Shiro had for him in the hospital. But for once in his life, he didn't trust himself to speak. Words and people had always been what he was good at, what he felt solid in. He wasn't sure there were any words in any language humans spoke that would make either of them feel better. Lance couldn't find a word to throw into the empty room, all too sure that anything he would say would just shatter them both all over again. So he said nothing, and waited until Shiro stopped trembling and spoke in his place.

"I don't think I'll ever be able to tell you how glad I am that he had you." Keith's smile, lit up in red and somewhat hazy from the years-old memory, shot behind his eyes. His words came out croaky.

"He's always going to have me." And he knew in that moment, it was true. Nothing was ever going to come close to Keith again.

"He wanted to get married. The two of you."

His eyes squeezed shut as his mind bombarded him with fragments of futures he wouldn't see realised. Maybe there would have been a semi-detached house out in some quiet suburb. They'd get a picket fence and everything, just for the hell of it. They could be a toddler running around their feet, or maybe just a few dogs. There'd be rings glinting off their fingers and a lazy happiness etched into the crow's feet that were beginning to form at their eyes. Every flash of overwhelming domesticity punched him in the chest. He felt tears pull at his eyes again and Shiro drew him in, mumbling frantic apologies into his shoulder. Somewhere among it all, Lance felt sleep drag him away.

//////////////////////////////////

At 7:20AM, the blaring foghorns of his alarm blared from across the room, launching him out of bed to shut it off. Some habitual part of his brain told him that meant work, and he fumbled around the room looking for the blue polo shirt that comprised his uniform. It took stubbing his toe on the couch to make him realise that he was not, in fact, in his and Keith's bedroom, but instead in Shiro and Allura's living room. And with that realisation, the day before crashed upon him all over again. 

Allura didn't let him go to work. She phoned Nyma and explained that Lance wasn't going to go in for a few days, and told her why after being pressed by his boss' caring persistence. Nyma had said to not even think about coming in, and take as much time as he needed. Time, time. God, it seemed fucking endless.

The pair of them drove him back to ~~their~~ his apartment and waited there until he managed to school his face into steadiness. 

Lance wasn't sure how long anything took for the rest of the day. It took him an hour to make some toast, and he burnt it. At some point he must have called Hunk without remembering, because he and Pidge were on his doorstep just as afternoon bled out, with shining eyes and faces he had never seen so still. They hugged him on the living room floor and he didn't cry this time. He nearly did, when Hunk tried to change the bedsheets. Because if he changed them then it wouldn't smell like Keith and it would be like Keith was never there and Lance had sworn he'd _sworn_ he'd keep him there so he couldn't let him just be washed away-

Pidge told him to breathe. He did.

 

In.

 

Out.

 

Cry a little, speak a little. Drink the tea they make and try not to cry again when they look at him with so much pity it makes his stomach heave and heart itch.

Hunk offered to stay the night so he wouldn't be alone, and Lance realised that there must have been some communication with Shiro and Allura not to leave him alone. He didn't have the heart to be mad for making decisions for him, only tiredly and entirely grateful for his friends. 

/////////////////////////////////////////////

He woke up at 3:48AM, after hours of fretful, dreamless fits of unconsciousness. He had a few sporadic dreams that his memory only held shards of. There were fences and bruises and shattered glass embedded in skin. Lance rolled over, burying his face in Keith's pillow. 

Two years ago he forced Keith to watch Twilight, purely to piss him off. He'd never been a massive fan of the franchise, but Keith's lack of exposure to pop culture was simply unacceptable. They'd both immediately agreed that Edward was a massive creep when he watched Bella sleep, but Lance understood it on some level. There were some (rare) mornings where he woke up first, and he was content to stare at Keith, gently breathing, before snuggling back into him to doze. Keith always looked younger when he slept, with the irritated edge wiped from his face, his heavy brows arched softer above his closed eyes. He looked peaceful.

He'd give the world and all the stars scattered behind it to have his boyfriend next to him. But the best he could hope for was peace.

He crawled out of bed and into the living room, wrapping himself in one of their throw blankets and curling up next to Hunk on the pulled out sofa-bed. Always a light sleeper, his best friend started awake and shifted around to face him.

"Can't sleep." Lance shook his head in the dark, and wordlessly, Hunk pulled him closer. "It'll be okay Lance, it'll be okay, I'm so sorry."

Hunk was sorry. Shiro was sorry. The police were sorry. Lance didn't want their apologies. He wanted to know who _should_ be sorry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was a tad shorter than the others, but the next one should be longer, so hopefully, that'll make up for it.  
> next chapter the plot comes back too, so tune in for that.  
> fuck this was draining to write, i want lance to be happy why am i hurting him :,)


	7. Axcemina

The heating was broken. Fantastic. Walker slung her backpack on her desk and threw herself into the chair, resting her overworked head on the pile of case files on the table, starting the mental countdown before her partner-

"RUUUTH!" There it was. Rickett came barrelling into their shared office, coffee in hand and stress etched into his forehead.

"Morning to you too David." He slammed the cup down into front of her, starting her to sit bolt upright. His face was stern in the way that was always reserved for either suspects, dead leads, and bad news.

"Drink up, you're not going to like this." 

"David it is Monday morning. I have been awake for 23 minutes, please don't drop shit on me so soon." Regardless, she began to drink as he spoke.

"I got a call from the hospital this morning. Nurse Brictley says there was a B and E." He was pacing in front of the dirty window and flailing his arms. 

Sometimes she had no idea how he was the same silent stoic around witnesses. It was like a switch on a particularly loud, particularly energetic children's toy that only sprung in certain situations. "Somewhere around early morning, three or four am perhaps." She furrowed her brows.

"Why break into a hospital? It's open 24/7, just walk through the door." David began to tug at the back of his head, his distress growing as he spoke.

"You remember the Kogane homicide we ID'd yesterday? With his boyfriend?" Walker squeezed her mug a little tighter. That was why she hadn't slept. She'd spent the whole night awake and clinging onto Amy like a child, with Lance's screams and sobs echoing through her head for hours. She'd stopped counting the cases she took, but never the faces. Every single person she'd watched break down in a sterile metal room was branded into the back of her mind. It never got easier to see.

"Was the evidence stolen?" Her mind flitted back to the necklace and the key that dangled from it, the victim's clothes, anything from the case that might have been in the building overnight, but Rickett shook his head.

"The body." 

Thank God she had already put her coffee down, or she may just have spat it out.

_"What?"_

"The lock to the mortuary door was snapped clean off," He rummaged in his bad and pulled out some pictures of the hospital morgue, with the heavy metal door swinging on jilted hinges. Another one showed the bolt still trapped inside the doorframe, broken clean away from the rest of the lock. Rickett pushed one of the photos towards her and sat down at the desk opposite. It showed the wall of vaults, with the first few doors ajar, ripped in the same way the main door had been. "As were the locks to six vaults. Whoever this was was searching for Mr. Kogane specifically."

Walker sank back in her chair and span around in lazy circles, gazing up at the ceiling while trying to forge any legitimate reason.

"Well, he was being blackmailed right?" She shrugged and Rickett fixed her with a dry glare.

"Somehow I doubt a corpse responds to threats, Ruth." 

Before she could reply there was a sharp knock at the door. They both snapped their heads up as the person entered before either of them responded. The woman strode in, tall and confident with a dark ponytail and darker lipstick, a cold glare fixed in her grey eyes. The two of them shot upright.

"Detectives, I've been asked by the Commissioner to deliver you his congratulations on solving the Graymer arson attacks." Walker's brain short-circuited for a minute at the sight of her. Axcemina D'Kroli was in her office _the_ Axcemina D'Kroli was standing in _her_ office and _congratulating_ her. The woman was a legend in city policing. She'd solved 37 murders in her 9 years working for the force, and was the youngest Captain that the city had seen since the 1960s.

Axcemina stood up straight with her hands fixed behind her back and drew her chin up, looking almost militaristic, as she continued.

"He'd like you to form a task force to handle growing youth hotspots over Eastside." She drew a thin blue folder from behind her back and dropped it on Walker's desk. "It's mostly petty stuff, but some of the older kids have started carrying homemade shivs, one was caught with a knife last week. He wants you two to head it up, but you'd have to discontinue your open cases." She wandered over to the shelf, tracing along the wood that held a few pictures of their respective families, of Rickett meeting the Commissioner to get his medal from two years ago.

Walker's face fell. She shot a worried glance at Rickett, who turned away to speak.

"Is there a way to postpone the task force?" Axcemina cocked her head and raised an eyebrow at him. "It's- it's just that there's been this development in our main case, and we'd, you know, we want to follow it through. Duty, you know?" 

The woman in front of the shut her eyes and took a slow breath before continuing. 

"I wish I could tell you yes, but Commissioner Moore is absolutely adamant on getting this running as fast as possible, and your reputation within the force is why you two were personally selected, at my recommendation." Holy shit Axcemina D'Kroli had recommended them, had recommended her, to the commissioner. Walker focused on keeping her face calm, and judging by the woman's face, she failed. 

"If it puts your mind at ease, I will see to it myself that your case is passed onto competent officers." Lance McClain's face flashed across Walker's mind, and Takashi Shirogane's angry shout rang in her ears, and glanced down at the picture of the broken lock on her desk. She wasn't sure if she could let go of this, there was just too much that didn't fit. 

"Ms. Walker, an opportunity like this comes once, maybe twice in a career." The woman walked closer to her desk, holding her eye until she was stood directly opposite Ruth, "You have my word that your homicide case will be handled. Now," She stuck out her hand to Walker, flashing bright white teeth. "Do I have a task force?"

////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Tuesday morning saw Hunk and Lance wrapped up in blankets and binge watching a random anime that neither could bring himself to focus on. Popcorn, your best friend, and escapism never did any harm, but the flashes and screams of what must be the seventh fight scene this episode all meshed into a formless buzz coming from the TV. They had silently agreed not to talk about Lance crying in his sleep.

He'd woken up that with Hunk squeezing him and didn't understand for about half a minute before the world hit him over the head again. He saw his friend school his face into calm so that at least one of them looked vaguely functional. All he could think of was him seeing Hunk for the first time, by walking in on him nervous puking in the bathroom at Orientation in Freshman year. They were kids away from home, scared and excited but still taking every new route they found, and from that day onward, they did it side by side.

Those scared nervous kids had cried on Lance's couch for an hour, five years later, talking about a moody boy with dark hair and an empty neck in between sobs. And Lance was hit with a protective love so strong for his friend, and an overwhelming sorrow for where their lives had taken them. He was so so grateful but he wished more than anything that he could be grateful for something else, some other amazing thing his Hunk had done. Just not this. 

He was pulled from his thought by a relentless banging at the door. Lance seized up, though for one hopeful moment that Keith was home, maybe he'd gotten lost or forgotten his keys and was locked out and Lance was bolting to the door and he was opening it and everything was going to be okay because he was home and he knew Keith would come back to him and he opened the door so so so ready to see bright dark eyes and a smile-

Coran was stood outside of the apartment holding a duffel bag and a knife. Lance tried not to let his face show how much his soul shattered. Why did he get his hopes up? Idiot. 

"Lance, I want to give my deepest condolences. I can not ever express how sorry I am." The man clipped the knife into a sheath strapped to a leg _why the eternal fuck does Coran have that?_ and shifted the duffel bag to his other hand, "Can I come in?" 

Wordlessly, Lance swung the door open and let him enter. Hunk was stood a few feet behind Lance, looking just as confused as he was. Coran strode past, unreadable as ever, leaving a scent of herbs and plants trailing behind him. 

He shut the door and led Coran into the living room, and watching him take in the sight of the apartment. Coran stopped dead outside the open door to the bedroom. He dropped his bag and ran to the window.

"Lance, did you remove the flowers?" He whipped his head around, a weathered hand running across the frames. Lance scratched at the back of his head, scrambling for an excuse.

"Uh yeah....... they were kind of starting to wilt.....and you know, Keith's - he was- already sick on Saturday so I thought I should clear it up. I know it was a gift, I'm really sorry-"

"Don't be, my boy." He walked back toward Lance, who was still in the hallway and drew him into a hug the way his dad used to. "It's okay, I'll bring some more over tomorrow, it's okay." He hugged Coran back for a few moments, and when Coran pulled back his eyes were bright. He kept hands on Lance's shoulders and trained his eye on Lance's face. "My Arthur would be about your age now. He was going to work wonders, I just knew it." Coran smiled, but it only looked half genuine, "The world is not a kind place for good people, my boy." He let go of Lance and picked up his bag again.

When in the living room, the dropped the duffel bag on top of the blankets and began to unpack its contents. Inside there were about six thick, leatherbound books with faded titles he couldn't quite make out; a dagger with swirling designs etched onto the blade; a digital camera; a few meters of rope; and a glass jar of Eucharist wafers. 

Lance shot a look at Hunk, who just shrugged his shoulders. He thought back to Allura on Friday night, telling him she stopped questioning Coran a long time ago. He refused to let himself think about anything else from Friday. Or Saturday, or Sunday. Or Monday. 

Coran sat cross-legged on the rug, stacking the books next to him and pulling the camera onto his lap, flicking through the memory card. He looked up at the other two men standing and staring at him and patted the carpet next to him. 

"Sit down, I have some things I would like you to see." They moved and sat either side of him, Lance on the left, and Hunk on the right, as the older man got up a picture from the camera's 'Recent' folder. It was a woman with dark hair scraped back and dark purple lipstick dressed in a police Captain's uniform.

"I saw this woman walking out of the station on Pulett Street yesterday morning at around 10 AM." Dropping the camera, he grabbed the second book down and flicked through the pages, before pulling out an old sepia polaroid of a tall man surrounded by four women. The same one Keith had shown him about a week ago. "And I do believe she ties in with my investigation of-" 

Coran kept talking but Lance couldn't hear him anymore. It was the case again. That fucking case. White hot anger coursed through Lance's veins and he felt his blood set alight. 

"You came here," Lance stood up and kept his eyes shut because if he had to look at one more godforsaken photograph he was going to hurt somebody, "about the fucking case. That's why you're here?" 

"Lance I do believe that this is impor-"

"DON'T FUCKING GIVE ME THAT!" He looked down at Coran, still cross-legged on the rug. His face was infuriatingly calm and Lance wanted to hit him. "LET IT GO! WHO CARES, WHAT DOES IT FUCKING MATTER IF SOME PEOPLE ARE IN SOME PICTURES? IT DOESN'T MEAN SHIT!" 

"Lance, Keith and I were working on this and he would have wanted you to know whatever we found." Coran stood up. Every cell of rage in Lance's body died. In his peripheral, he could see Hunk standing up and moving behind him. He felt a hand on his shoulder and wanted to scream.

"Don't bring him into this." he whispered, "Fucking don't, Coran." He felt tears well up in his eyes but he continued, feeling the anger slowly seep back into his voice. 

"Do not come into our house and tell me what he would have wanted. How the hell would you know? What reaches you've made this time, I don't care. Whether or not he would have wanted me to know doesn't matter because _he_ isn't here to tell me." He was openly crying now, could feel tears in his eyes and on his cheeks but he didn't stop, he was shouting now. 

"I have loved him since I was nineteen years old and I'm going to love him until I'm fucking dead but none of that matters now because he's gone. And he can't fucking love me back anymore." Coran looked sorry, looked sad but he couldn't bring himself to care.

"Lance-"

"Get out."

He simply nodded, didn't push it. Didn't say anything. He began to pack up his bag and Hunk helped him. Lance stood still, focusing on trying to breathe properly. When the two of them set out to leave, Hunk gave him one last hug and told him to take care of himself. Coran squeezed his shoulder, and didn't say anything to him. 

When the door finally clicked shut behind them, Lance fell to his knees and screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic should just be called '16 year old gay makes fun of one of the most famous novels in history but accidentally makes herself sad in the process'  
> also i am PASSIONATE about the hc of lance and coran having a father-son type relationship so writing that argument was no bueno.  
> wow didn't we get an awful lot of plot this chapter, when i started this fic i didn't intend for so little klance i miss them :(


	8. Switchblade

He stayed on the floor anywhere from a minute to three hours. When he eventually stood up, there was a strange calm over him. Like a cool sheet of glass had settled just behind his ribs, stopping any semblance of emotion from reaching his brain. He showered, scrubbing away dirt and skin and sadness until his skin glowed an angry red. He shut the bedroom window, but the key was still hung on Keith's chest, sealed away in a hospital vault.

On attempt two of sleeping in their bed, Lance couldn't sleep. He woke up nearly half a dozen times, fitful and restless all night. Waking up for the fifth time, however, was accompanied by a draft that he hadn't noticed before. There was a soft breeze coming in through the bedroom door, but he remembered locking every single window in the house before going to bed, and they were on the third floor, so it couldn't be from the front door. Lance was reaching to get out of bed to investigate when the tapping of footsteps came through, muted but still audible. The soft slap of shoes on floor treading slowly throughout his home. 

They had always meant to oil the hinges, but Lance had never felt more grateful for the telltale creak of the apartment doors. He tried to strain his ears to trace the soft padding of feet on linoleum through the apartment as whoever was there wandered through the rooms. There were no sounds of rummaging, no frantic grabbing of anything remotely valuable or other material havoc caused by a standard theft. Just steps, taps, and silence.

Lance felt ice flood his bloodstream, freezing him still under the coverlet. His hand reached up, slowly despite the intruder sounding far away. He reached underneath Keith's pillow and drew out the red switchblade that he'd kept there. He brought the knife towards him just as slowly, trying to use the cover of the blanket to disguise the gentle click as he pressed the button to flick the blade out from the handle. 

The fluorescent buzz of streetlight flooded through thin grey curtains and fell in hazy patches across the wall. The door was hanging slightly ajar, but the crack wasn't open wide enough for Lance to see out into the hallway, even if he had looked. He heard his heart pounding all throughout his body and felt its beats wrack his chest. He kept his breathing as quiet as he could, hearing the footsteps draw closer to his room. 

He resolved to feign sleep, and if the intruder made a move to attack, he would fight back. If whoever it was had come just to steal, he could report it to Walker and Rickett in the morning. Anything unprovoked or premature could risk turning things for the worse. 

His mind flashed through every episode of Law and Order that he'd binged with Keith, trying to pull any episodes on home invasion to the forefront of his mind, anything he could do, or not do. He knew that calling the police would alert the intruder that he was awake, and that scenario wasn't something Lance wanted to entertain for a second at present moment.

Another creak, much closer this time, and the shadow of the door crept up further along the floor. It was joined by a silhouette of a figure, a man, standing in the doorway. Lance had kept his back to the door, and he watched the shadow as it stalked nearer and nearer to him. He focused all his efforts into moving as little as physically possible, and keeping his breathing even and quiet enough to be unsuspicious. 

The shadow didn't stop behind him. He felt the footsteps draw closer to the bed, then turn to circle it around to the other side. He could hear a faint tapping at the foot, probably near the dresser, where he guessed the figure had stopped to inspect. It dawned on Lance that the pictures were face down. The figure carried on walking, and Lance screwed his eyes shut, making sure that the blade clutched in his left hand was hidden from the intruder's sight. A sudden thought hit Lance like a truck: was this whoever had killed Keith, coming back simply to finish him off? 

No. 

No way. Not both of them.

The figure stopped at Keith's side of the bed and stood over Lance before leaning down to sit. He felt the shift of weight by his shoulder and prepared himself to spring, shifting all of his weight onto his right hand. 

He let go of his mind and any thought, giving reign to sheer survival instinct and its adrenaline-fuelled chaos. Every nerve in his body was electrified and when the rummage of fabric, the figure's arm moving, he struck.

He pushed himself up with one arm and swung out toward the figure, knife in hand, with the other. Distantly, he was aware of a wordless noise seeping through his throat as he moved. His vision was blurry with adrenaline and all he could see was haze and patches of light among the dark.

A fist wrapped around his wrist and the stranger's skin was neither hot nor cold to touch. It just _was_. The hand carried a force that nearly crushed Lance's wrist in its grip as it twisted his armed hand away from its body and pinned it to the mattress, contorting Lance to bend with the motion. A second hand clamped swiftly over his mouth as he squirmed to try and fight against the hold over him. His head was being held side down, and he was unable to turn enough to catch the face of the attacker. 

As quickly as it had seized him, the fingers around his wrist let go of it, as if he had burned it, even though it was still pinned under Lance's torso. The fingers over his mouth remained, with a loop of frantic shushing from the other person, barely registering over Lance's wriggling and panic. 

"Shh! Sh! Lance, it's okay, it's okay, " The voice continued, so low that Lance was only just able to make it out. It was male, his throat sounded ragged and torn but his voice still struck a chord somewhere subconscious within Lance and he felt tears prick the edge of his eyes. "I'm not going to hurt you."

The man's single hand over his mouth was strong enough to keep his entire upper body pinned down, and his arms were either twisted underneath his own shoulder or trapped underneath the man's knee. He tried to kick out at the attacker until he took hold of Lance's ankles and forced them down with ease. 

"Lance." The man was whispering harshly, and leaned closer to Lance's head, "Lance! Just listen, listen okay? You're okay." Lance felt the pulsing of a dazed terror ebb away with each breath, and the room finally came into focus. He stopped shaking underneath the man's hand and the reality of his situation dawned on him and _holy shit **he was going to die**_.

The man's face swam into his vision as he leaned upward, a smudge of pale skin caught between his dark hair and darker eyes. The sides of his vision were still hazy, but the familiar planes of the face above him would still be clear to him after living a thousand different lifetimes. But it- it couldn't, there was no way-

He screamed under Keith's hand, and the man above him desperately tried to calm him down again.

"Lance please," he could hear the crack in Keith's and his scream died in his throat, tearing and breaking like a wounded animal before tapering off "it's me, it's just me, I promise. I promise you're okay." Lance stared straight at him, silent, still panting and starting to shiver. 

"Right. Lance, I'm going to move my hand, and I am begging you to be quiet." Keith was nodding, as if trying to assure himself more than Lance, "I know you're scared and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I broke in like that. Anything, any, any whatever, I'll tell you whatever you want, okay?" He was stammering and tripping over his words, but his nodding head stopped its shaking. Lance held his gaze and slowly nodded back. Keith moved his fingers away from his mouth, and slip his hands behind Lance's head and shoulder to pull him into a sitting position. He shot into Keith's arms, nearly toppling them both over, but Keith managed to stay sitting upright. He held onto him and wrapped his arms around the man's waist tight enough to cut off circulation. He cried into the shirt across Keith's collarbone, as his boyfriend pet his hair and stroked his back until he cried himself into quiet. At Keith's suggestion, he agreed to talk for a bit.

Lance shifted sat with his back against the headboard and legs outstretched, with Keith cross-legged at his side. Keith didn't let go of his hand when he helped him up and kept their fingers laced together locked in a vice grip.

"I-" The sound came out coarse and rough, and he took a break together himself before trying again, not looking at Keith. "What the fuck is going on?" His desperation and exhaustion were painted across his face and bleeding into his words, and Keith's face fell. He stroked his thumb across Lance's. "Keith I don't understand."

"I'm not sure I do either." 

"I saw you in the hospital. You w- you were gone. Completely." His free hand crept up to his own neck, mind wandering back to the jagged tears in Keith's skin and the officers' silent sympathy. "Is it still there?" 

Wordlessly, Keith caught his hand and slowly brought it to his collarbone. As Lance drew his fingers up Keith's neck, he felt the ridges where the cuts had been, closed up into scars now but still unmistakably present. His touch lingered on his neck and Keith's eyes slipped shut.

"What you saw at the hospital, that was real. All of it, and Lance I am so fucking sorry that you had to see any of it, I never thought things would get to that." Lance didn't meet his eye, with his gaze still fixated on his neck.

"I don't understand how you're here." He felt the jagged ridge, smoothed over in a way only time can heal. But there hasn't been time, nowhere near enough of it. Running his fingers back and forth over the raised ridge, nothing he could come up with made sense. One extremely loud voice in his head was screaming that there wasn't a way for it to make sense, so something about it couldn't _be_. 

"Are you staying?" Keith opened his mouth and closed it. He tried again, but still, said nothing. 

"Of course I'm staying."

"It's not like that's a weird thing to ask, Keith. I mean, what- wh- what if this is all just some sort-" he choked and stammered empty sounds, unable to figure out how to verbalize his flurry of thoughts for a few seconds, "some sort of thing my brain's just showing me?" Keith looked stunned, his mouth parted in shock. He squeezed Lance's hand tighter and moved to hold the one on his neck too. He sounded defenseless. "I want this to be real."

"Lance I promise you, this is real. This is forever, and I'm not going to do that to you again. I swear." He tried to get Lance to look at him, and upon failing, pulled Lance toward him, and Lance silently threw his arms around Keith's middle, tucking his head next to Keith's chin and curling up into the embrace. Keith leaned back against the headboard and his hands threaded through Lance's hair and held his shoulder, whispering soft 'I love you's against the side of his forehead. 

Under the cover of Keith's head and arms, he felt like he was coming up from water and finally tasting air again. They stayed still, holding each other in the dark, for an immeasured time before Lance broke the silence with a shaky murmur.

"I'm scared," that I'm gonna lose you again."

"You won't, not ever, I swear." Keith replied, lips pressed against his temple. Lance let out an empty laugh and looked up at Keith.

"I'm going to hold you to that." The corner of Keith's mouth drew up, ever so slightly, and he kissed the side of Lance's mouth. His face dropped back to its usual severity before he spoke again.

"I'm guessing you saw the pictures?" The ones of him. Lance's stomach dropped as he mumbled out a yes. "The man the took those is the same man that," Keith paused, choosing his next words carefully, "did...that to me. The man that I'd been looking into with Coran." Lance's eyes shot to meet him and he bolted to sit upright, hands still resting on Keith's sides.

"I thought you said he was just a conspiracy." Keith moved his hand to Lance's jaw and held his face, taking him in.

"I did. I thought so too, but I was wrong. He didn't like what we were finding, and he tried to warn me off. He-" Lance moved his hand from Keith's waist to lay his index finger against Keith's lips, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head.

"Don't. Please, not now. I don't need details right now." Keith pulled his face in closer and pressed their foreheads together softly. " I don't want them. I just want you." Keith's thumb stroked his cheek and Lance dropped his finger from Keith's mouth.

"We can go to sleep, and just talk about it in the morning?" Lance nodded. Morning sounded like a good idea. Keith pecked Lance's cheek before untangling the two of them to strip off his jacket and jeans and crawled back under the covers in his t-shirt and underwear. Lance was already under and threw a tired arm across Keith the moment he was settled, face to face. His gaze flicked downward almost out of habit, down to Keith's mouth, and he leaned in. 

It was one last pull, and Lance poured all of the desperation and hollowness of the past four days into Keith's lips. He grasped at the collar of Keith's shirt as the other man's hands reached for his jaw to better angle his head. 

It was half a week of pain and longing condensed into movement of lips and hands. Open, feverish kisses that said 'I missed you' and 'I'm here now' and a thousand different thoughts that had plagued them both whilst apart. Everything was said and none out loud, and they slowed gradually. Eventually, they broke apart and lay there, arms snaked around each other and eyes still closed.

Lance turned on his side and Keith threw an arm around him, drawing his back against his own chest and burying his face in Lance's short hair.

"I love you." Keith's arm squeezed him a fraction closer, and Lance leaned back into him, feeling the weight ground him in a security that feels so foreign after the days of nothingness.

"I love you too." 

"See you tomorrow." There was a hint of a smile in the words, and Lance split into a grin, settling down to sleep under the duvet and his boyfriend's arm.

"Yeah, see you tomorrow."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FUCK i missed keith i'm so bloody glad he's back and that i'm finished writing grief   
> i know a load of people had said they wanted him back but i want to know if anyone actually doubted that i'd bring him back??? i was trying to make it seem like that but let's be honest i love keith to much to keep him dead.  
> now shit gets _fun_


	9. AM

Monday. 4:24 am.

Fledgling rose roughly three hours ago. He was already in a secure location, but I was yet to bring him to Marmora Headquarters. Intense rage, incapable of rational thought and fuelled by animalistic strength and instinct. Passed out again immediately after being fed.

I brought him back here, and he woke up after about half an hour. Did not come to full lucidity for 13 minutes. Heavily confused, and didn't remember his identity at first. Once the memories started to return, he asked me where he was and who I am. I told him that I was there to help, and ensure that he was safe for others to be around before I let him go. 

He had questions about what he was and what happened to him. I left out details of the humans that saw him, he wasn't in control enough at the time to hear of loved ones yet, and I was unwilling to risk a potential outburst. I will inform him today if he has stabilized. I brought him the chain that I'd taken from the evidence locker when I retrieved him. He held, it for a while, saying nothing, but didn't put it back on. 

I will have to ask him for the details of his meeting with the Prince later. He is currently asleep, his temperature has risen to a normal range for someone of his state, but I need to wake him in two hours to feed again. 

Tuesday. 6:03 pm

When I first woke him this morning, he asked me when he could go home. Said there was somebody he needed to see. I told him again that I had to be sure that he was safe to be around others, and warned him of the danger that came with trying to continue his life as it had been.

I said that there was an open investigation, and any sightings of him around his area will be immediately suspicious and could result in exposing not only himself but the hundreds of others like him. He maintained his stance, saying he understood but he needed to go home as soon as he could, that he'd do what he needed so that I would believe he was ready. I didn't have the heart to dissuade him further. He will have to realize that on his own. He's stubborn. I just pray he isn't stupid.

Progression tab: After some practice with me he has learned to retract and release his fangs. 

I asked about the Prince, and what his encounter with him had entailed. I discovered that the Prince had met him personally. I tried to disguise my reaction, my confusion, but I don't much believe my face in its ability to keep my secrets. I asked what he said, and will try to note down the conversation as best as I can relay.

"Who did he send when he met you?" he held his chain in his hands, fidgeting with the key attached to it while he spoke.

"He didn't send anyone. He came with one of the women, the angry one with the lipstick." I asked him how they met him.

"I was asleep, so was L-. So was my partner. And I felt someone grab my shoulder, so I look up, and he's just standing over me, and she was standing by the window. The window, it was open even though I had the key" That evidently must be the key attached to his necklace, and I wondered if he'd suspected it, and how long for.

"He had his face right up in mine and told me that if I made a sound then his 'companion' would slit his throat. Not his his I mean. She would kill Lance if I said anything."

"Lance is your partner, I take it."

"Yeah."

"What did he do then?" He was struggling, immensely, but I pressed. It was vital, especially if the Prince had come personally.

"He told me to get up, get dressed. So I did. The woman told me to leave a note, so I wrote one saying I was with one of our friends."

"Were they angry?" he shook his head

"They didn't look like they felt anything. It was just a cold politeness. They acted as if it was nothing serious, but I could tell it was going to be bad. It shifted, though. When they were walking me out of the apartment, I stopped at the bedroom. I was thinking about saying goodbye to him, I didn't think-" he choked momentarily, and paused to regain himself before continuing, but he was still shaky as he spoke.

"We all understood then. I knew I wouldn't see him again, and they knew that I had clocked on to what they were going to do to me. But I wasn't going to risk anything while they were so close to him."

"Where did they take you?"

"We drove for a bit, and we got to this warehouse club type of thing. Like if a dive bar got gentrified. So they walked me through that, and the people were staring at him, some at me, some were looking anywhere except us. They took me into this back room and made me sit down at a table, and he sat opposite while she stood at the doorway." He was silent, collecting his thoughts for a few minutes before continuing.

"So we were sat down. Then he reaches into his inside pocket and pulls out an envelope. He lays it on the table and tells me to open it. I start thinking he's trying to bribe me to stop looking into him but honestly at this point, I would've dropped it for free-"

"You're getting distracted."

"Right, right. So he tells me to open it and I do and it's just.. pictures. Of Lance, Shiro, of all my friends. I'm in a few, but not many. He watches me while I look at them, with this smile on his face like he's loving the whole thing. He asks me how much I know about panthers, and I tell him I don't know much. He goes off about them, saying that panthers value stealth and secrecy, and only reveal their position to strike. He tells me 'When a panther's stealth is compromised it has two options: Give up and find another or strike. Mr. Kogane, I have put too much work into my territory to give up now.'" 

"Is that all he said?" he shook his head at me.

"I wasn't paying attention. The door had opened and the three other women came into the room, and they moved to stand in a circle around the table. He was talking but I couldn't hear anything, it didn't even sound like words. Two of them carried off the table between us then moved behind me. They grab one of my shoulders each and pin my wrists behind the back of the chair. Then he gets up and walks over to me. He's talking but I'm not paying attention, I'm looking around and trying to get out but there's only one door and no windows and then he grabs my face and crouches so that we're level."

He took a breath and slowed down from there, "He asked me if my research had told me why he never aged. And I told him there were theories, but I didn't believe them. He said 'Maybe you should. Oftentimes that which seems unfathomable is plausible, only once looked at with the right eyes.' I told him that I didn't need new eyes to see what he is. He asked me what I saw."

"What did you tell him?" He looked back down, at his hands. "Keith do you know what he is? Do you understand what you are now?" 

"Does it matter? Understanding won't change me back, I'm stuck either way." He was angry with me, it carried in every fiber.

"But it can be easier. You have been given a chance, Keith. Do you know how many people would do terrible, terrible things, to have what you have been given?" He simmered down from his fire, shrinking in on himself.

"I said he was a monster and he laughed at me. Told me that for all my research and petty dedication, I knew nothing at all. 'I am infernal', he said. 'I am calculation and care, capable of inflicting a horror so pure it is drawn from the void itself. How would you like to feel horror, my little paper boy?'" He pulled the chain between his hands, threading it around his fingers and twisting it.

"The woman with the lipstick pulled my head back, and I remember this pain, searing. There was a long, black nothing, and I thought I could hear sounds but they were distant and I couldn't make out any words. And then I woke up here. There are flashes and patches of light and dark, but nothing stuck."

He asked me again when he could go home, but I didn't answer. He was suspicious of what was happening and confided in me that he had suspected the Prince was draining him even before they met. When he told me of how the window kept opening, and the marks on his neck, the sudden shift between strength and weakness, I confirmed it. He looked ready to break. 

I drew the bag from my jacket and threw it to him. I knew he would still be hungry, and thought that it was better to start testing his control as soon as possible. Instantly, his manner switched to one decidedly more primitive, and he lunged for the bag. It was inches away from his teeth before he halted, his mind seemingly cleared in an instant. He stared at the bag, then at me, then back at the back. 

"Is it human?" 

I told him it was pig's blood and he believed me. It appears he can't yet distinguish between species types, but that will come in time. I fear that he will struggle to accept and adjust to his new place in the world. However, despite my doubts, his growing control is exceeding my expected progress. I will have to talk to Thace before I do, but I'm considering letting him go home. It does nobody good to have an angry fledgling wreaking havoc. Though I'm uncertain whether Thace will agree.

He started asking more questions about me after he'd fed. How old I was, what our organization did. I said only what I am permitted to tell outsiders: that we are a covert protection and resistance agency against the Prince's subcurrent. And if he wanted any more detail into our operation, he would have to join.

Things are still new for him, but he's making progress. He's asleep at the moment, I'm on morning duty to watch all of our detained. When I left his room it struck me just how young he is. It hurt.

Wednesday. 3:17 am.

Thace agreed to release him on the condition that he meets with me in three days time. It should give him time for closure before he needs to go. Ulaz gave his department demands to see potential relocation spots with trusted agents. He has been offered a starting position with the Blade on account of his encounter and research of the Prince. 

Antok reports that Axcemina D'Kroli switched his inquiry away from its initial officers. Our members within the police allege that she convinced the Commissioner to utilize the officers for other matters. Thace and I elected not to tell Kogane of this, it's worth using the case as a means of convincing. If he had no motivation to leave his life, I suspect he would try to stay. I've said all there is to say to him on the matter. It's something that even the best of us grapple with when we first turn, and he'll understand.

In the meantime, I drove him to his old building. I gave him a meeting place and time. He'll be there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just got home from a party and i'm kinda high atm oops  
> next few weeks might take longer because i dont have the next few written in advance like usual, but i'll try bc my readers are the best xxxx


	10. I Trust You

When sleep hasn't fully faded and morning hasn't fully hit. That had always been Lance's favourite part of the day. There was a peace in it, lying in the soft haze of early sunlight creeping through onto his face. His head was resting on top of a familiar chest with an equally familiar hand running soft paths across a strip of his exposed back. If he could, Lance would have pushed back the day for hours, living in the few minutes of thoughtless serenity for as long as he could, just enjoying Keith's touch, still half asleep.

But morning hit, and it hit hard. Sudden remembrance of the previous week and last night. With tears and blood and a 4 AM reunion, every moment struck him like a freight train. He jolted, pushing himself up, suddenly unsure whether the night before had gone as he remembered. Keith shifted in response to the sudden movement, propping himself up on his elbows, confused at Lance's eyes roving over his face.

"Well good morning to you too." Lance let his eyes fall shut again, feeling a smile pull at his lips at the sound of Keith's voice. He was here, and safe, and okay. And he might just cry again because of it. 

There was still a lingering panic tugging at the back of Lance's mind, telling him that everything could be ripped away again at any second, that he could lose Keith again, for real this time, without a moment's notice. He tried his best to push the thought away and leaned towards the man until they were forehead to forehead. He opened his eyes again and saw Keith meeting his eyes, cool grey irises merged into one fuzzy eye at such a close proximity, slightly crinkled at the edges.

"Hi," he whispered.

"Hey." 

"Guess I have some explaining to do." Keith tried to keep his face open, but the strain came through all the same. He didn't want to talk about it, didn't want to hear about it. Lance never wanted to think about Keith's body on that table again. But he couldn't just accept Keith's sudden reappearance, no matter how glad he was about it. Curiosity was simmering beneath layers of relief and emotional exhaustion. Keith pushed himself into sitting, and reluctantly, Lance did the same, leaning his head on the other man's shoulder.

Lance thought back to how desperate he had been for answers, any answers. But now that the chance was there, he just wanted to grab Keith and run. It was as if the moment they brought up Keith's sudden death then apparent un-death, it would all be undone. And Lance would be alone again.

"Well," 

"Well." 

"...You're not dead."

"No, not anymore."

"So you actually were?" Lance shifted his head up to catch Keith nodding. He snaked his hand down to Keith's and ran his thumb across his knuckles, giving a gentle squeeze. 

"You can laugh if you want," There was a small, empty smirk playing at Keith's lips.

"Baby you were fucking _dead_ I'm not gonn-"

"I'm a vampire." Lance burst out laughing. It wasn't even that funny. Okay, it was kind of funny, but just because it was just so absurd. He felt ripped straight from a crappy paperback romance novel, except far less straight. This could not be happening. He had not gotten nearly enough sleep to be able to process that. It was only 8AM.

"I'm so-" _wheeze_ "I'm sorry, but, fuck," he was gasping for breath between giggles and words, grabbing at his sides. Keith's smile softened a bit, became ever so slightly genuine. "This cannot- cannot be h- happening right now. Baby, you're fucking vampire, what timeline is this?" The giggles died down and Lance regained himself, and the realisation hit him like a piano falling from a skyscraper. 

Vampire. A fucking vampire, which is apparently a thing that exists now.

But now, things started to make sense.

Lance's mind frantically scrabbled to grasp at all of the strange things that had been going on with Keith over the past few weeks, and the involvement of some supernatural malignance began to explain things very neatly. 

"What kind?" He turned back around to Keith and flopped down across his chest like a cat, "Like, am I in love with Dracula or Damon?" Keith's nose crinkled up as he scrunched his face.

"Neither, really." His hand came up and rested in Lance's hair, "it's weird. You'd think with the amount of vampire fiction out there, people would get it right at some point." HIs fingers started to move through his hair, and Lance felt himself sinking into the warm peace Keith brought him.

"You're gonna have to give me a crash course at some point. You might need to watch out for my mom's crucifix next time she visits us." Keith snorted, opening his mouth to reply before being interrupted.

"Mr. McClain?" There was a rapping at the door. Somewhere in his mind, Lance vaguely recognized the voice, but couldn't immediately place it so early. Keith gently shoved Lance off of his chest and rolled out of bed, heading towards the door. He was at the edge of the hallway before Lance's brain finally made the connection, and he bolted upright and across the room, nearly tackling his boyfriend to the floor.

"Lance, what the fuck?" Keith grimaced and Lance clamped a hand over his mouth.

"You can't answer the door, dumbass."

"Why not? I live here."

"It's the police." Exasperated at how Keith didn't grasp this himself he explained, sounding suspiciously like an 8-year-old with a helium tank, "There is literally a murder investigation, _your_ murder investigation and the officers conducting it are at our door. The whole premise of a murder is that the victim does not come to the door and answer some questions."

"Mr. McClain, is everything okay?" Walker's concern bled through the wall.

Shit.

"Uh, yeah, it's all fine officer. Just gimme a sec to-" racking his brain, he picked a random excuse and prayed, "water.. my plants." 

You think a guy with three older siblings would be a better liar. Apparently not.

"Lance we have _one cactus_." Keith hissed into his ear.

"I know I panicked," He rolled off of his boyfriend from where they had landed and the knocking continued. He shooed him and whisper-yelled at Keith to hide somewhere. He watched as Keith climbed into the linen shelf and locked himself in the airing cupboard. Lance buried his face in his hands.

Scrambling to make himself somewhat presentable, he threw a t-shirt on over his boxers and ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to calm it somewhat. When he opened the door, Officer Walker was standing alone.

"Hi-"

"I'm not supposed to be here. We were taken off the case." Of all the ways Lance had thought this conversation would start, that was definitely not one. He held the door open and prayed his boyfriend stayed quiet.

"Do you want some coffee?" Wordlessly, she walked through to the kitchen, keeping her eyes trained on the floor and fidgeting. Lance followed her in, and set the kettle on before offering her a seat. When both cups were ready, he sat on the counter and asked why she was here.

"Before anything, I wanted to see how you're doing." Oh no. If God was:   
1) real and   
2) kind, Lance's panic wasn't showing on his face. He couldn't be sure.

"Things with your partner are still very fresh, and it's more than understandable if you're not entirely feeling like yourself at the moment." She reached and put a kind hand on Lance's arm and he felt irredeemably bad about the lying he was about to do.

"Thank you, Ms. Walker,"

"It's okay, you can call me Ruth." Please don't bring first names into this Lance felt crappy enough about how nice she was. But he smiled and carried on, albeit through slightly gritted teeth.

"Thank you Ruth. I'm not sure if everything's fully sunken in yet though. It's really nice of you to stop by to check." Ruth patted his arm one more time and something inher face changed, twisted. She looked away and let her hand drop to her side, thing a long sip from her mug.

"I actually came round to tell you that Rickett and I were moved. The district's commissioner needed us for a task force, and they're switching your- well, your partner's case to some new detectives, but I wasn't told who." She was dragging her gaze around the walls, at the various photographs hung round that he'd specifically avoided looking at since Sunday morning. 

"Did they need you specifically for it?" She set her mug on the counter and wrung her hands, still not meeting his eye.

"The deputy commissioner said we'd been selected on her recommendation. But I'm worried - no I can't-" She bit her lip and grappled with herself for an excruciating, silent moment. "God I shouldn't even be here. But I am." She whirled around and looked Lance dead in the eye, her dark eyes unreadable.

"Keith's body was stolen from the hospital the morning after he was identified. Almost the minute we found out, we were moved. And -and I can't believe I'm about to say this- something seems off about the whole arrangement. I mean Axcemina is an amazing officer and she said she'd make sure it was handled but I have not trusted Commissioner Acaster since day one and I know I sound like a conspiracy theorist but I just can't shake the idea that there's something behind this."

"I made this choice, to do this job, to get justice for people like your boyfriend, Lance. And I feel like if I didn't tell you the situation - even though investigating, well technically I'm not an investigting officer for the case. My wife said I should tell you but I didn't ask Rickett and-" 

Lance was having difficulty keeping track of her rambling, especially over the blaring alarm bells that were currently going off in his head. Alarm bells that screamed _PRINCE LOTOR IS INVOLVED. THIS IS VERY BAD._ loudly. Over and over again. Get your head in the game, McClain. Figure out a plan while she's still stuck in her loop of technicality.

"Ruth." She fell silent.

"You don't sound crazy. It's definitely weird, and I do not like any of it." That much, he didn't have to pretend at all. He dumped the rest of his still piping hot coffee into the sink and set the cup down, placing both hands on her shoulders. "But focus on your task force, let the new officers take the case over. You said this Axcemina person would make sure of it?" She nodded, suddenly looking a lot smaller and more stressed out than she did a few days ago. 

"Let her handle it. I'm sure the new officers will carry on and crack it." He knew for a fact that they wouldn't', if the case was even going to be passed to someone else at all. Somehow he doubted it. But he had to get Ruth to drop the idea. Seeing her face, he added, "And thank you, for caring so much about Keith. It means a lot." 

"I'd want someone to do the same for Amy." The words were barely above a whisper. She glanced up at the clock on the wall and her eyes widened. "Oh my God, I am so so sorry but I have a meeting in twenty minutes, I have to go." She reached for her bag and powered down the hall to the door, and Lance followed, sparing a look at the still closed airing cupboard. As she opened the door, she turned back to Lance.

"If you ever need anything, I know we don't exactly know each other, but I have experience in dealing with loss." She fumbled in her pocket and pulled out a small, torn piece of paper with an email address and a phone number on it in smudged ink. "If there's anything, to do with the case of the personal, please, don't hold back. Goodbye Lance." And with that, she was gone.

The cupboard nearly crashed open and his boyfriend came tumbling out onto the floor. Lance gave a hand to help him to his feet and kept their fingers laced together. It was grounding. Lance led him back to their room and grabbed his phone from the charging lead, one-handedly opening up a group chat on SnapChat.

"What are you doing?" Keith crept up behind him, trying to peek over his shoulder at the screen. 

_the police just came round. i need to talk to all of u. can u guys be here in an hour??_

Lance tossed his phone back on the nightstand and turned back to face Keith, dropping his hand to rest of the man's hip instead. He sunk his head onto Keith's shoulder and groaned loudly in frustration. As if things weren't ridiculously complicated already.

Keith chuckled at Lance's annoyance and stroked the back of Lance's head. His irritation subsiding, the touch gave Lance a perfect idea of how to relax. With everything going on between them, it had been a while since they got to really 'spend some time' together. He lifted his head a fraction to graze his lips against his neck and speak directly onto the skin of Keith's jaw. The man tensed and shivered slightly as Lance's breath brushed against him. Well, it was nice to know not that much had changed. 

"You know, we have about an hour alone before anybody shows up" Keith's hands found their way around his neck to rest on his shoulders. "And I missed you so fucking much." Lance wound his arm further around Keith's waist and pulled him closer, using his other hand to tilt Keith's face up to meet his. The solid feel of Keith's lips against his set his spine on fire, feeling heat travel up and down his chest. 

He felt himself being walked backward until the wall pressed up against his back and Keith pushed up against his front. He opened his eyes just enough to see the other man's sliver of a grin as he freed his arms from Lance's neck and ran his hands underneath his shirt. Grazing his nails along Lance's smooth tan skin, he latched back on to his mouth, tugging at his bottom lip. Lance's gasp died in his throat and Keith swallowed it whole. 

He trailed his hands trailed down Keith's body and threaded his fingers through the loops on the jeans that he had apparently _kept on all night, Jesus Christ_ , pulling Keith flush against his body by his hips. Letting go, he dipped his fingertips just below the threshold of Keith's waistband. Keith froze and broke away from Lance's kiss, his eyes bright and breathing just heavier than before. His hands flew to Lance's wrists and held them in place, stopping him from moving further or back.

"Are you okay, did I hurt you?" Concern colored Lance's voice, still a little husky as Keith kept his gaze firmly trained on the floor. He sunk his head down onto Lance's shoulder.

"No, no," His hand let go of Lance's wrist and tugged through his own hair. Lance knew that move. That was the _internal conflict_ move. "I want to. But I don't know if I can." Lance looked at him, confused.

"What, like, physically?"

"Yeah. Well, yes and no." He raised his head and face Lance again, bringing his free hand up to hold his jaw, and tangling their fingers with his other, "I can't trust myself. Ever since I came to, the only thing I've thought about was coming back to you, back home. And I was worried about you; if you found out what happened to me; if you thought I'd just not come home, anything. I missed you like fucking crazy Lance, so much I don't even know how to say it."

"And part of me wants to just shut up and touch you until I forget what anything else feels like, but whenever I do I stop thinking, and I can't afford to do that right now. I need to get... control of everything. Because if I ever slipped," Keith faltered just enough for him to pick up on it, and Lance raised the hand that held his and kissed his thumb. But he let him carry on. "and ended up hurting you, I wouldn't forgive myself. Ever."

He understood it. He didn't necessarily like it, in fact, he hated the idea that Keith didn't trust himself around Lance. But he understood it. If their roles were reversed, Lance knew he would place Keith's safety above everything.

"Plus I don't even know if there's enough blood in my body to actually get hard." Keith's eyes were firmly glued to the floor, and Lance had to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing out loud. But it struck a massive elephant stuc invisibly between them. Blood. Keith was going to need it sooner or later, and it's not exactly a household item. He needed blood from somewhere, and maybe, they could find a way to kill two birds...

"What if you bit me?" 

Keith looked at him like he had just grown a second head.

"Are you crazy?" Keith stammered and floundered for words, his mouth opening and closing like a particularly dry fish, "I just. I just did a speech, I just made a whole speech. About _not_ hurting you, and I'm, I mean I'm pretty sure that biting would fall under that." He took a hold of Keith's now-wildly-flailing hands and held them to his chest. 

"I'm just putting it out there. Hypothetically." Now that the thought had struck him, he was definitely warming up to it. At some point. "I trust you. I was just asleep next to you for the entire night and you didn't hurt me."

"I was asleep too."

"The whole time?" He ducked his head.

"No. I watched Forged in Fire on my laptop for a few hours." Lance burst out laughing. Of course. Keith rises from the goddamn dead and first thing he does is catch up on his knife shows. 

"You are something else Kogane," Keith had a look in his eye like he had just seen a supernova. "But the point still stands. It fixes the whole feeding issue, and you can test your limits," He ducked his head briefly to nibble just underneath Keith's ear, his lips still ghosting across the skin of Keith's neck as he spoke low, "Because you know how much I love to test them for you." 

Keith groaned and the hand that held Lance's tightened its grip. "Sometimes I wonder how you're real, the things you do to me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lance is the type to burst out laughing at very inappropriate situations and i'll fight you on it  
> please let me know what you think!! it's a massive motivation to me


	11. Papercut

Keith opened the door several times, to several different reactions. Most involving tears. First was Hunk, who screamed and swept him into a bear hug, laughing hysterically through happy tears.

Pidge and Matt both fell deadly still, neither of them moving until Keith smiled a bit; as if they were afraid he'd shatter as soon as they acknowledged him. Pidge hit him on the arm and yelled at him never to scare her like that again, but she latched her arms around his middle and Matt gathered them both up to him, chuckling.

He jumped into Shiro's arms the moment he heard his brother at the door. Lance rushed to Allura to briefly explain while the two hugged. They silently agreed not to mention the damp patch darkening Keith's shoulder, or how red both of their eyes were. 

Last to arrive was Coran, though only about ten minutes after Hunk had shown up. He looked eerily stoic, and his usually cheery and warm face dropped to a cool severity as soon as he saw Keith. He swallowed and shifted his duffel bag to squeeze Keith's shoulder in one hand.

"It's good to have you back, my boy." Keith nodded. Lance decided it was best not to second guess Coran anymore.

Lance had taken it upon himself to bring each of their friends into the living room as they arrived, and not push as everyone declined a drink. They waited until everybody was there and sat around the living room and kitchen to begin explaining the recent developments. Trying his best to mask his blatant discomfort underneath everyone's gaze, Keith cleared his throat.

"Okay, I know the past week has been, strange. To say the least."

"No shit." Pidge's inability to read the room had never been more relieving, as the tension shattered and the group cracked small smiles in the face of sheer incredulity. Keith grinned and carried on, looking less stiff than before. Lance shuffled closer to him on the couch and took a hold of his hand. He didn't think about how it wasn't quite as warm as it had been last week. 

"The very short version is that vampires are real and I am one now." Hunk furrowed his brows and Pidge snorted before the realisation seemed to hit them both at the same time. Their faces dropped, slowly. Shiro blinked. And he blinked again. His confused expression matched Allura's almost exactly. Matt looked bewildered and frantically searched around to room as if to ensure that everyone else had just heard what he had. Coran was still stoic, and it was beginning to get unnerving to Lance, there was something ominous about seeing the man so unreadable. 

Keith was looking around, his eyes darting between his friends' faces and Lance could feel his breathing coming in faster and shallower. Squeezing his fingers, he plastered on a grin and asked the group if they had any questions, doing his best impression of a peppy flight attendant. Matt looked at him like he'd asked them if they wanted to boil some puppies for dinner.

"Yes, we have questions. I have just about every question that exists, I mean what the absolute fu-"

"Keith," Shiro waved his hand and Matt stopped in his verbal tracks, mouth still open mid-word. "What has changed? About you that is, because you're... well, _changed_ now."

Lance felt rather than saw Keith flinch, and leaned in, just closer to his side, looping his free hand around the arm he was holding with both of his and kept it close to his chest. Keith ran his thumb across Lance's knuckles. 

"Well, it's all the standard stuff I guess. Drink blood, which does not taste good, by the way." he let out a hollow laugh. Nobody else did. Keith cleared his throat. 

"I don't have a pulse, I don't need to breathe. Well, I do to talk, but not to live, you know?" An awkward hand came up to the back of his neck and Lance rested his head on Keith's shoulder, circling his index finger round Keith's forearm in silent encouragement. 

The more Keith continued to list of everything that was different, the more real everything began to feel. The entire morning had felt almost dreamlike; as if nothing bad had existed in the world the instant Keith came back to him. But now, it was becoming much harder to laugh at the fact he was dating a mythological creature, and change began to dawn on him.

Keith hadn't found out the full extent of his new abilities while he'd been with Kolivan, but from what he had been told he'd put together a mental fact file:

\- He couldn't touch holy symbols from any religion (Lance had been right to worry about his   
mom's crucifix then)

\- Heightened speed and strength were not only real traits, but so was night vision and   
really good jumping. For some reason.

\- While sunlight wouldn't kill him, it would weaken him a lot. Things like severe heatstroke   
and exhaustion were very common, it seemed. 

\- He wasn't going to age anymore.

 

There were a few more but Lance had stopped listening. The last one had struck. It had lingered ever since Keith had first said _vampire_ earlier that morning, but now it hurt. There was a terrible pit forming in his stomach. He was going to grow old, but Keith wouldn't. 

He was going to die, and Keith wasn't. Everything he had felt, Keith would feel too, but it would stick this time, and every nerve in his body screamed at the thought of it. He found himself grabbing onto his boyfriend even tighter, half tuned in to him talking about food or something similar, before being cut off by Coran.

"Who bit you?" 

 

Keith was silent. Lance was silent. He was half certain that even the birds outside were silent. Surely Coran knew, even if it was just a suspicion, he had to at least think so. Keith swallowed and his grip on Lance's hand began to ache, but Lance didn't stop him. His dark eyes were trained on the floor and Lance watched his face contort as he stayed silent, and Lance spoke.

"The guy you were looking into. With the women." 

Coran looked grave and stood, hoisting his bag up onto his shoulder.

"Then we have to go immediately." Keith's jaw clenched but he nodded. Lance asked Coran where they had to go.

"Lotor knows where you live. Even if he is unaware that Keith has risen yet, or at all, we cannot risk him coming back here and potentially harming either of you. I know somewhere you can stay until we kill him." 

"Okay who the fuck is Lotor and why are we killing him?" Lance hadn't heard Hunk in four years, and his head whipped around in shock to see his best friend's eyes set in a stony resolve. Keith and Coran shared a look, and Coran held up his hand, offering the question to Keith.

"We were investigating him after I'd noticed that he seemed to show up in portraits spanning centuries. The deeper we dug, the more people we asked and archives we searched, the more dangerous he was." Keith leaned into Lance, who was still holding onto his arm, eyes trained on his face.

"Everyone that knew of him was terrified of him. He essentially runs the vampire underground. Abducts humans to traffick as a blood supply; runs underground fledgling fight rings, has dealings with the major drug cartels just for the fun of it. He's been expanding his reach for years now, and one of his ears must have heard we were looking into him." He shook his head and moved his free hand to cover Lance's, "I'm only alive because some of his ex-circle have gone against him. There's a small team, and they want me to come with them, Kolivan thought I could help, so he turned me to bring me back." 

After the explanation, Coran sent the others away, telling them he would send a location to meet at tomorrow, that the apartment wasn't safe, especially not to be seen at. They left one by one, being sure to leave intervals between to avoid suspicion. Just in case. The older man told Lance and Keith to pack what they'd need, and that they'd set off as soon as they were ready. As soon as the bedroom door was closed, Keith let out a long sigh.

"What is it?" Lance was already rummaging through their wardrobe pulling out shirts for both of them, not taking the time to consider matching or fashion. He waved his hand in the vague direction of the corner, and Keith picked up the old gym bag sitting there, flinging it on the bed and beginning to fold the clothes Lance had thrown onto their bed.

"having to explain everything. Saying it aloud for the first time." Lance stopped. God, he wished that there was something he could do.

"I'm scared, Lance."

"I am too," He turned and wrapped his arms around Keith's middle from behind, resting his chin were Keith's neck met his shoulder and pressing gentle kisses to his cheek. "But I'm going to be here okay? Everyone's going to be here, right with you. You're not going in alone." But there was something tugging at him. Kolivan.

"Are you going to go with them?" Keith shifted so that he could face Lance, still in his arms. His hands came up to Lance's face as he held his gaze, entirely serious. 

"Why on earth would I go anywhere when you're here?" It would've been cheesy, and Lance would've laughed, has Keith's face not been so openly confused that leaving had even crossed his mind. "I told you that I wasn't going to leave you, ever. And I meant it." 

The pull was gentle but firm as their lips met in the middle, soft and warm as they fit together. Keith used his hold on Lance's head to control the angle and deepen the kiss, Lance pulling Keith closer by his waist. But it was slow, and calm. Home. 

They lost track of time, lost it in each others' touch until a sharp pain in his bottom lip jolted Lance out of his haze. He jumped back and he hand flew to his mouth to feel the cut. Keith's hands flew from Lance's face and clamped over is own mouth, eyes wide in horror. Muffled, frantic 'sorry, I'm so sorry's came from behind his fingers. 

His lip was bleeding, but it wasn't anywhere near serious. He grabbed a tissue from the nightstand and pressed it to his mouth, before turning back and trying to coax Keith's face from out of his hands. He sat his boyfriend down on the bed and sat on him, the tissue discarded in the wastebasket, and cut forgotten. 

"Baby, look at me."

 _"I hurt you."_ Lance held his boyfriend's wrists but didn't try to move them away.

"It was an accident. A tiny one, I'm fine." One of his hands moved into Keith's hair, tangling in the soft black strands, "We said we'd work our way up right? This is when we actually do that, babe. Please look at me."

Slowly, Keith's hands came away from his head and he turned his gaze up to Lance. His lips were parted and Lance could see just how much sharper his canines had become. They looked lethal. He drew one of Keith's hands to his own face and brushed his index finger across his bottom lip.

"See? All better."

"It's not. Lance, wha-" 

"I'm a grown man Keith, I can handle a glorified papercut." He smiled at that, and Lance's chest lightened. They'd work past this. They could work past anything because they were Lance and Keith. He would move Heaven and raise Hell for the man in front of him, and Keith would do the exact same. 

Lotor didn't know what was coming for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> man i'm sorry this took longer than usual. a level exams are coming up and i'm probably going to fail history so i've had 0 motivation recently :)))


	12. Snippet

Having been rather unceremoniously shoved out of Lance and Keith's apartment after the revelation that her friend was fucking _undead_ , Pidge handled the situation about as well as any sleep deprived college student would. That is, by taking a deep breath and calmly walking over to the wall opposite from Lance's front door. And smashing her head on it. 

Nobody ever said she handled stress well.

She hadn't even finished sinking to the carpet before Hunk and her brother were sat on either side of her, scolding and laughing respectively. Allura was too busy trying at calm down Shiro, whisper-yelling frantically, to notice. Her head throbbed and fuzzed, drowning Hunk's words and Matt's snickering to a dull static. Each lap of aching that came was a touch easier to feel than the last. She waited a few minutes for the pain to fully subside and sat up straight. Both boys sitting beside her had stopped talking, her brother rubbing her back gently and Hunk rummaging through his bag to pull out a bottle of water, which she accepted. 

"So," she took a sip from the water. It was warm. "That was unexpected."

"No shit Katie." She could tell Shiro had more to say, but judging from the look Allura was giving him, he knew better than to continue.

"I just want to say that there is nothing about this situation that I like" Hunk's gaze shifted to the floor and his shoulders slumped. "How am I even meant to explain this to Shay?"

"You can't tell her! It's bad enough that so many people know already!"

Well, Matthew," Hunk bit back, "She already knows he's dead. Do I just say _heey babe, you know how Keith died? Well, that was all a huge prank! We got you!!!_ "

"Keith just explained everything to us. He cannot afford to let the world know that _vampires_ are real." Pidge loved her best friend dearly, but he was being a fucking idiot. "So I don't care what you tell her, as long as it isn't the truth." He shrunk back at the harshness of her tone and she felt bad for the second of silence before Allura spoke.

"This is a difficult situation for all of us Pidge, there's no need to snap at one another." She stood firm, with her arms crossed, as Shiro stood behind her fiddling with the ribbon trailing from her jacket. "We are a family- are Keith's family. And right now we need to act like it!" 

Pidge hated it when Allura made sense.

"But Coran just kicked us all out. What can we even do to help?" Throw for a loop, Allura furrowed her stupidly perfect brows. 

"We work out." The three sat on the floor looked at Shiro in confused repulsion.

"Your solution to this," Matt sounded as if Shiro had asked them to all rip out and donate one kidney, "is pushups. I Mean I knew you were a jock but _damn,_ Takashi-"

"Matt we are up against the undead, who have super strength, speed, and sharp ass fucking teeth." He straightened up. Pidge had not expected to see him bust out the 'serious dad leader' pose yet here they were. "We don't know everything about what's going on with Keith. And odds are, we never will."

"But that doesn't mean we can't be there to help him because I lost my brother once and so help me God I am not about to lose him again. So I suggest," he swept his gaze around them, taking the time to look all three of them in the eye, "That we go home, grab our shit, and meet in the gym in half an hour." Matt whistled low.

"Whatever you say Commander." His voice was playful but, like it or not, they were in for training session and a half.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay this was really short bc it was just one scene. i haven't finished the chapter yet but i wanted to post at least something bc its my birthday today and i wanted to give u all something for sticking with me so far! your least favourite fanfic writer is finally 17!! the full chapter should hopefully be finished by wednesday


	13. Loaded

Barrelling through the door, four minutes late and desperate not to be called out to it, Ruth tried to cross the room to the empty chair next to Rickett. Unfortunately, in a room full of detectives, it's likely that somebody will notice the woman showing up while the district deputy commissioner is halfway through the briefing. 

Axcemina eyed her with mild distaste and one sharp eyebrow arched as she slunk down, dropping her back and shucking off her coat. She did her best to ignore Rickett's glare boring a hole in her skull and concentrate on what the woman was saying.

"Anyway," Ruth absentmindedly wondered if anything fazed that woman for more than 47 seconds. Probably not. "this task force has until Friday to complete the preliminary intelligence detail, which I expect to be presented to me. "

"It is key to this operation that intel gathered is sufficient enough to launch an infiltration, and we have several potential candidates currently undergoing testing to determine who will go undercover." Dragging her cold, grey eyes back and forth across the table, she spoke with a detachment only gained through years of practice.

"This is a matter of our city's young people. Whatever danger it is that drags these kids into the streets, it is your job and duty to put a stop to it. Each of you has an itinerary at your desk, which I expect to be followed to the letter. Sadly I cannot personally oversee as much of this operation as I would prefer to, but I have faith that I have chosen the correct officers to handle this. Dismissed."

With a sharp nod, the six of them sat at the table began to gather their things and see what they needed to do. It was day three of the youth crime task force. Large groups ranging from preteens to 20-something-year-olds, roaming in groups downtown. There had been increased reports of carrying, mostly knives and shivs. Strangely, each confiscated blade had been either mostly or entirely silver. 

That had, of course, started speculation of a subculture; Hell, Rickett had even speculated that it was the root of some emerging cult, but nothing had so far been found to substantiate that. Not that kids with knives were anything new. But a 56% arrest rate increase is not something to be shunted aside.

Ruth's mind flickered back to Mr. McClain, and his tired smile in the face of the unspeakable. 

"Hey, you planning on working today?" Rickett's hand clicking in her face brought her thoughts to a skittering stop.

"I have to ask her something first," She waved him off noncommittally, "I'll be there in a few minutes."

"Ruth," 

"And if you want to be the bestest best friend in the world," She saw him sigh before she heard it, "you could get me coffee?"

Rickett rolled his eyes and threw his suit jacket over his arm, "Why do I even put up with you sometimes?" But there was no malice behind it.

"Because I solve shit. Plus, I'm in a group chat with your wife and sister."

"Don't remind me. Andrew's Antics haunts my dreams." She snorted. Blackmail truly was a beautiful thing sometimes. He closed the boardroom door behind him and left her alone with Axcemina, who was occupied with something on her laptop at the head of the table. Lance's face crossed her mind again, as did his words, advising her to drop it. Now or never.

"Ms. D'Kroli," Her head whipped up as if yanked by a rope.

"Ruth, there's no need for formalities."

"Right, right. Axcemina," The woman's face softened, almost amused. "I know I'm not technically supposed to ask, but I was wondering if there were any updates on the Kogane murder?" The amusement disappeared. Ruth kept talking before Axcemina could cut her off.

"And, and I know you've handled it and passed it over already. I'm not trying to get reinvolved in the case. I was just wondering. It's been eating at me." Axcemina straightened up from her laptop, and slowly strode over to her. Ruth's hands fidgeted as she approached, her face unreadable. She stepped straight into the unspoken barrier of personal space, placing her hand heavily on the shorter woman's shoulder. 

"I assure you, Ruth. In fact, I had word from the assigned officers that they located Mr. Kogane's body and informed his partner yesterday evening." 

Ruth faltered. Lance hadn't seemed to have known that the body was taken when she was at the apartment not even an hour ago. Never even mind it being found. Axcemina continued, with Ruth shifting under the weight of her stare.

"The body has been taken back into the morgue, but so far his death is being deemed accidental." Ruth opened her mouth but the other woman cut her off, "Most likely some form of animal attack. Forensics is looking into it." 

An animal? The only wild animals in this part of town were pigeons and the occasional fox. Neither seemed capable of the gashes Ruth had seen in Kogane's throat. But she knew better than to push her superiors, especially on a case that wasn't technically hers to handle. 

Still, she would have to see Lance again, just to ensure that he had been told. Maybe Axcemina's orders hadn't got through to the rookies, and they forgot to tell him. Rookies can be crazy these days. 

Axcemina smiled at her tightly, asking if she had any more questions about the case. She shook her head, mouth still hanging open, and let the meeting room when the other woman pointed to the door with her thumb. Floating through the hallway and sinking back down into her desk, she barely had time to draw breath before Rickett was shoving their itinerary in her face. 

"Right, Walker. We have to look into the kids we've got back so far and see if there's anything, any pattern in who's joining, who's going missing." Right, task force. She can do this. Pull yourself together. When she turned to her friend, he looked grave.

 

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

Coran's safehouse, it turned out, was actually a house, contrary to his expectations. It was an upstairs flat with an old lady and her cat living downstairs, and quite a nice one, with plumbing and everything, like a particularly spacious and livable storage unit. Walking down the hallway into the bedroom, Lance dropped his duffel bag on what appeared to be the bed as the two of them took in their new surroundings.

The bed, underneath his bag, was a blow-up mattress sitting atop of a few wooden crates, with some mismatching pillows and a moth-bitten cover flung haphazardly over it. The walls were bare plaster with a low off-white ceiling and a dirty green carpet covering the floor, with some stains he wasn't sure he could discern. Lance made a mental note to keep his socks on at all times. 

There was one sofa in the living room, and a few folding chairs stacked in the corner. The bathroom was beige tiles that probably hadn't been changed in decades, with a small patch of mold growing in the corner of the floor, by the bathtub. But it at least worked, as did the sink, and, thanks be to God, the toilet. 

He had felt the weight of Keith's shadow at his side, not touching him, just there, grounding. They'd wandered around their new temporary home, taking in their situation. Coran was busy balancing a laptop on top of a dangerously long and uneven stack of old looking books atop a chipped wooden table in the bare living room. Lance couldn't quite see what was on the screen, just a block of formless text with a blurry picture at the side.

"How long do you think we need to hide here?" Lance saw Coran's train of thought crash to a sudden stop behind his eyes, but his face didn't stray from the laptop. With every second that the man stayed so grave, he grew more and more unnerving. He was so used to Coran's effortless optimism and cheer, that the severity etched into his forehead looked as unnatural as the ridges running across his boyfriend's throat. 

"Until the Prince is dead, my boy." His head dropped down, but he was kept upright by his hands planted on top of the table. "Once he is, we can dismantle his empire out of the shadows. Or even better," he moved the laptop off of the book, and directly underneath was a file. He opened it to the first item inside: a photograph of Rickett and Walke- Ruth. "We might not have to. If we have enough evidence before we kill Lotor, we can leave matters to the law."

"You think the law is going to be able to take on vampire crime gangs?" For once Keith didn't sound defiant. His voice was tinged with a vulnerable concern, and a disbelief. 

Coran reached into his bag, fiddling for a moment, and drew out a scuffed metal revolver with the chamber open. Slowly, he reached into his pocket and dropped a bullet into each chamber, not looking at either of the boys stood in front of him. Lance saw Keith's Adam's apple bob in his throat and grabbed his hand. Once all eight chambers were full, Coran spun and clicked it into place, before turning to speak to them.

"Keith, your body is dead. Therefore, where is your life carried?" Keith stammered and Lance held onto him a bit tighter, subconsciously trying to pull Keith's arm behind his body and away from the loaded gun.

"It is stored now, in your brain." Outstretching his arm, he pointed the barrel at Keith's forehead, "And the brain is startlingly easy to destroy. You don't even need the police to do it." Lance stepped forward without thinking, into the firing line.

"Is this really necessary?" He felt like he was on fire, and Coran's arm did not waver. 

"When the time comes, because it _will_ come," Lance dropped Keith's hand to shift and stand fully in front of him, "I need to know that _you_ know what you will choose. I cannot afford to let your new nature sway you." He spat the words out like venom.

"Jesus, Coran, it's still me!" Coran's blue eyes were raging with a tempest as he screwed up his face and squeezed his finger and suddenly the trigger was pulled. 

He felt Keith's hands grip his sides but it would be too late, it would be seconds too late when -

 

 

 

 

 

Nothing came.

Lance dared to open his eyes, not even recalling ever closing them, and saw Coran stand, panting. Nothing came. Keith was holding tightly onto his chest, hands over his heart, his face buried into the back of Lance's neck.

The gun clattered to the floor and Coran sat back on the table, running a hand across his face. Lance stared, silent, his eyes wide and unbelieving. He turned around slowly, still hesitant to leave the man outside of his sightline, but he drew Keith's face out of his hold and into his arms instead. 

"I'm sorry to scare you like that." They stared at him in disbelief.

"Where the Hell did that even come from?" Keith was furious, Lance could almost feel him shaking from it.

"This is war, Keith. You think that you're the first person I've worked with?" He was laughing, but something in the sound was broken, "I have no idea how I've even made it this far." He collapsed fully onto the table.

"I wanted nothing more than to keep you all safe. And I failed that." He looked at Keith, and Keith looked down, "So if I cannot protect you, I need to be sure that you can protect yourselves, and protect each other."

"So you decided that a loaded gun was the best way to go about that?"

"Did it work?" Lance faltered. He held Keith -who was staying rather silent now- tighter. 

"I already knew that I'd choose Keith. You didn't have to wave a gun in his face to see that." The man smiled and he felt Keith shift to look at him, shy in a way neither of them were used to anymore. 

"Well then," He gestured to the four chairs scattered loosely around the table. "Sit down my boys. I believe we have a plan to form."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> coran is a man of extremes, i must admit. 
> 
> quick question: since my final exams are coming up, i'm not sure how much time i'll have to get chapters out, but i have a pretty firm direction for the rest of this fic. soo, would y'all rather have shorter, more frequent updates, or longer and less frequent updates??? let me know and i'll go with what you guys want!!
> 
> i just want to say thank you so much to everyone reading this and sticking with it. it genuinely means so much to me that people are enjoying this story!! love you all!


	14. Profiles

Three days, five training sessions, and far, far too many burpees later, Pidge was examining all the choices in her life that had led her to this moment. And regretting every single one. She loved Keith, she really did. But Shiro's workout routine definitely had her questioning _how_ much she loved him. 

But she persevered, mostly out of spite at seeing how well everyone else seemed to be handling the brutality. Matt and Hunk were taking turns getting their asses thoroughly kicked by Shiro in a pretense of sparring, and Allura was doing chin up after chin up like a machine. With ankle weights on. Pidge's pride had decided that there was no way in hell she was going to be the first to crack. Besides, it was easy to allow the mindless EDM and overwhelming gym stench of sweat and fragile egos to fill up the blank spaces in her mind and let her body carry on its repetitive, arduous task on mental autopilot.

It was Sunday, officially one week since Keith had 'died'. He and Lance were still at Coran's safehouse, and the rest of them had been to see them yesterday, mostly bringing over candy and Lance's laptop, which Hunk had made sure to download hours of stupid romcoms onto. They had all held onto Keith a little bit longer when saying goodbye, and he had let them. Undeath has a funny way of changing things about people, she guessed. 

Every spare minute that the five of them (the Buffy Babes, as Matt had dubbed them. Shiro was not too pleased about that nickname) weren't busy with college or work, Pidge's life consisted of three things  
\- the gym, trying to build some semblance of fighting skill  
\- searching books and the internet for every scrap of vampire information out there  
\- sharing intel, strategy, and general anxiety with her friends

So far they had no solid plan. They'd managed to build a semi-solid profile of The Prince and his advisors. Keith had told them everything he could remember from his meeting with Lotor, and put together with Coran's research and Pidge's findings, and a metric butt-ton of archive crawling, it had led to a profile.

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////

There were five of them in the key circle of the Empire. It seemed that Lotor's father, former kingpin Zarkon, had disappeared with his companion Haggar, at some point around the turn of the 20th century. The last confirmed record of them anywhere was on a small island off the coast of Scotland in 1923. It was safe to say they were no longer involved in the cartel's operations. 

Lotor, surname unknown. Age unknown. Appears to be in his late twenties, but reports of him date back to the mid 19th century. Older paintings had given him a soft face, but when the photograph was invented, the softness dropped. He was harsh, every line and plane cut as if by knifepoint. It twisted his look into one of cruetly, under his hard grey eyes. One of Coran's sources called him 'frightfully pragmatic', a man who would stop at nothing to dominate every single smuggling route on the American east coast. And he hadn't stopped in the last 110 years. His women are the only associates to remain by his side for over a decade. All the others were found slashed open in a river by a new generation of police.

Closest to him came Axca, his strategist. She was the brain behind every operation and the mind behind every coverup. She had joined him first. 

Alice Keeton was a bluestocking. Though the term had fallen out of fashion since the King took over, the attitudes hadn't. Alice read too much, spoke too loudly, and thought of things far too ghastly for a woman of her respectability. But the empire was falling, the century had turned and the women? Well, they were getting louder. Much louder. 

The stifling middle class of 1909 London had dictated every step of her life down to the colors she wore. Purple and green were far too political, far too close to those women that chained themselves to the gates of Buckingham Palace. Of course, a husband had been suggested. Albert Woodley, a rather harmless, but rather dim son of her father's business partner. The most Alice gathered from him was his love for flowers and botany. His favorite ones were yellow poppies. 

Two meetings changed the course of Alice's life. Kitty Marion was the first. 

Kitty was a German actress turned radical, an exotic beauty with a fire burning deep in those bright, laughing eyes. Kitty's red hair and penchant for arson had Alice signing her name on the WSPU register in a heartbeat. Yes, she was sick of the patronization, the control, the silencing. But there was an excitement. 

Alice became the most prolific organizer of violent suffragist attacks in the entire south of England. She was irritated to find, decades later, that history never gave her the credit for the toffee hammers. Alice was the one who recommended all suffragette vigilantes carry one, and it had become marvelously effective. Marches, rallies, bombs, window smashing, church fires, brawls with police officers; all proudly marked down on Alice's resume. Her parents were unhappy, to say the least. She was cut off from the family and forced to move in with fellow activists in a shared Camden flat. 

Two meetings changed the course of Alice's life. Lotor, three years after, was the second.

Kitty, Alice, and hundreds of other suffragettes, even some more moderate suffragists, were in and out of prison constantly. Cells upon cells of women starved themselves to freedom only to be taken back again when death was no longer imminent. Upon her third release, Alice dragged her bones and the loose skin they carried to her bedroom, only to see a man. 

Men were not strangers to the liberation cause. Suffragists, she had heard, had a notable amount of male members. But men did not come near the suffragettes. Not the radicals. He spoke with a casual, American grace that Alice had never heard in person. America was the land of new money and loose morals, her parents had always said. Alice listened a little harder. 

He offered her a chance. Europe was charging headfirst into a dark era, and the vast Atlantic waves could give Alice all she wanted, he could give her all she wanted. She could go, he told her, from prison to power. Real power, not hiding in a cramped apartment using fleeting numbers in increasingly desperate measures for a dying cause. She would be strong, and sharp, and eternal.

On the 3rd of May, 1912, Alice went back to prison, but on the third morning, the morning guard found her in a blood-soaked nightdress with her jugular cleanly severed. The wardens panicked and altered her records to state that she had been released again the day before. Cat and Mouse. They forced the other prisoners to bleach the floors as the morning guard buried her underneath the herb garden. 

A week later, a young woman called Axcemina Keely boarded a ferry bound for New York with a fresh looking passport and alongside a tall, fine gentleman. The black velvet choker around her neck hid two white puncture marks. She hasn't set foot in England since. 

Acxa turned her plotting skills to Lotor's fledgling cartel. She, it seemed, was simply willing to serve the side that would serve her. The strive for suffrage had been a nice test run, but in the cartel, she flew. 

Against her judgment, she checked the British casualty list every day of the Great War. When Albert's name came up, at last, she bought a flower pot and yellow poppy seeds. It still flowers, every year. Nobody actually knows how she reacted when the vote was won. 

////////////////////////////////////////////////

Close after one another came Ezor and Zethrid. 

Ezor was 'The Tongue'. She knew everyone, and heard everything. Every whisper of Lotor's name reacher her, and she fed them all to him. She was the sparkling diplomat, bright and charming and up to her eyes in intrigue. Ezor laughed and flattered her way into your graces, and wove around you wit until you confessed things you weren't aware of knowing. 

20-year-old socialite Ellen Sellers was seen on a stranger's lap at a California party in 1927. She wasn't seen again. The woman he had come with had disappeared with a young actress within half an hour, nobody else got a glimpse of her underneath the curtain of shiny dark hair. Party guests had described Ellen as captivated, but none of them had ever seen her companion before. He had a strange, encapsulating way about him, the way a python seems to hold all your secrets in its eyes.

The two were flirting outrageously the entire night, but it remained innocent. At least by a speakeasy's standards. At 1:37 am, the strange man led Ellen out of the party with her hand in his, his lips against her ear. She called out to her friends that she would telephone them the next morning. A few hours later, someone spotted them talking amicably, leaning against the railing of a bridge. Both looked sober, content.

So you can imagine the town's shock when Ellen's body was found half-decapitated in a shallow ditch the next afternoon. There was no DNA, no witnesses, no fingerprints. But amongst the guests, there was no other suspect. 

Goodbye to California and cabaret. Hello to the next century.

If Ezor was the tongue, Zethrid was the teeth. Standing 6"2 in a blaze of new wave Amazonian glory, she played executioner. All those associates, found in the river with their veins trailing behind? All thanks to her.

It's easy to spot a Zethrid kill from Lotor kill, in honesty. Pidge had seen enough photos of both by now. Zethrid never drank. Her kills were for duty, for pleasure. Food was never a consideration.

For those who know their German history, and Pidge did not (until yesterday), they will know that   
1930 was a notoriously shitty year. Political violence ravaged the streets from both extremes, the government had a new cabinet seemingly every other month, and it was more common to starve than not. It was a time that made Adolf Hitler seem like a savior to those who still had faith in politics. 

Zita Fischer didn't have faith in anything. 1918's trenches took her father, 1923's hyperinflation took her mother, and 1930's extremists took her brother. She knew how to work a gun and a sewing machine, and each day made the former sound more and more appealing.

When your back is against the wall (of the unemployment office), and a stranger offers you a way up, who are you to turn away from that? Seemingly out of nowhere, horrifically out of place in Berlin's slums, strolling casually in a three-piece tailored suit as if the streets were paved with gold. 

Someone throws you a lifeline, and you grab it. Even if you wind up temporarily dead just off the main high street. The body was carted away, with the starved children and homeless elderly. She rose, she stood, and she never went back to Germany. She looked back at it a decade later and tried not to think of her streets, of the Jewish bakers that had lived three doors down. They didn't live there anymore. 

//////////////////////////////////////

The final member, Narti, they knew the least about. There were a thousand and three rumors floating around the vampiric circles about Narti. One of Coran's contacts, a 97-year-old vampire called Alfie, said that despite Narti being blind, you would always fell like she was watching you, staring straight through your skull with milky white eyes hidden behind dark glasses. Nothing ever escaped Narti. 

One of the most popular rumors, and Pidge's least favorite, was that Narti had been a Sybil, a female spirit of prophecy and enchantment in Ancient Greece. If true, it would make Narti over three thousand years old. 

Pidge didn't want to consider her own chances against that.

But no level of profiling led to a plan. It's all well and good to know your enemy, but unless you know your surroundings, you may as well be swinging a dagger in the dark. Keith mentioned a warehouse, but no solid location or home base. So far, their dramatic personae was as useless as Pidge's currently burning triceps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so sorry this took so long, i’ll try to update more often. my finals week is the next two weeks and after that updates should be more frequent again  
> thank you so much to everyone still sticking with this story you’re all amazing

**Author's Note:**

> okayy so this is my first actual fic, i have a couple of chapters written in advance but i need to edit them before i post so there'll be about a week-long interval between updates. bc this is established relationship i might do a spin-off on how they got together, so if that's something you want then let me know and i'll probably do it if people will read it.
> 
> thank you so much for reading, and come yell at me on twitter @epherii !! (i have a tumblr @sarcell-e but i don't use it too often)


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